The Wounded Lion, The Witch and the Spare Bedroom
by selmak
Summary: On Minerva's first day of summer vacation, Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley bring her a wounded Alastor Moody. First Wizarding War Era.
1. Chapter 1

First Wizarding War Era.

* * *

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, a lifetime ago, Alastor Moody had danced with an unexpected grace.

Had it been at the Christmas party for the Order that Albus had insisted on throwing? Yes, Minerva decided. It had been the Christmas party, and she remembered seeing Alastor impromptu waltzing and marveling at the incongruity of it. For such a large man, Alastor had been light on his feet as he danced with his fiancée. The normally grim Auror had been beaming as he gazed down at the love of his life.

Yes, that had been a lifetime ago.

A lifetime of hopes, tears, and deaths.

A lifetime of war.

Diana was long dead and the wreckage of a man that Arthur Weasley and Albus Dumbledore were supporting bore no resemblance to that nimble dancer. Someone… Evan Rosier, she belatedly remembered, had taken off a good chunk of his nose. If that wasn't bad enough, his left eye had gone astray and most of his right leg was missing. But the worse were his facial scars. Alastor would never again be the young man smiling with obvious delight at a pretty woman.

Rosier must have used a Hexed Blade to inflict such horrific scarring.

Witnessing the sheer magnitude of Rosier's depravity deeply affected Minerva. It was fortunate for Evan Rosier that he was dead, else he would experienced first hand that Minerva McGonagall, enraged, did not stay her hand.

Unlike the noble Alastor Moody, who had refused to become the very monsters he fought against.

"He should be in St. Mungo's," she weakly protested. Well, yes, he should be! But Albus Dumbledore had unilaterally decided to convey an injured Alastor Moody to Minerva McGonagall's cottage and interrupt the first day of her well-deserved summer vacation. "In fact, I thought he WAS there. Why was he discharged?"

"NO! NO! NO, I _**WON'T**_ GO BACK," the hospital gown clad Alastor roared. "The staff is full of Death Eaters! It's not safe! _**NOT**_ SAFE!"

"He was there," Arthur explained over Albus' attempts to calm the raving Alastor. "They attempted to murder him. Albus thought it best to remove him. We came here as this is probably the safest place for him."

"What happened?" Minerva questioned. "He should have been safe there."

"We're not exactly sure, but the two Aurors that were guarding him are dead, part of the wall is missing and there are bits and pieces of Emily Selwyn strewn all over ruddy creation," Arthur tersely explained. "Least, we believe that whatever it once was, it was Emily Selwyn. There's not enough left to be completely certain."

"I'm sorry to hear about the Aurors," Minerva dryly quipped. "But pardon me if I don't mourn Emily's passing."

"Bedroom," Albus ordered. "Come on, Alastor, we need you to help us."

"Why are you carrying him?" Minerva asked. Truly, she felt as though she was missing most of the conversation. Alastor Moody was not a small man by any stretch of the imagination. He was taller than both the men hauling him and he had the solid build of a natural born Beater.

"If you use magic on him for any reason, he'll toss you through the wall first then apologize," Arthur said. "That's what saved Moody when Emily decided to visit. Albus had to knock him unconscious and then Mobilicorpus him to get us this far."

"Bedroom," repeated Albus. "He's not very light, Minerva. Can we please get him to a bedroom so we can put him down?"

"This way," Minerva ordered as she led the three men to her spare bedroom. Fortunately it was on the same level as the kitchen, dining room and a bathroom so Alastor wouldn't have to navigate the stairs.

Albus and Arthur were drenched in sweat by the time they arrived in the room and the trembling Alastor was quite ashen from exertion. Minerva had already pulled the bed covers down and was holding onto a pillow just to have something to occupy her hands. It would be so easy just to swish and flick Alastor into bed. Yet considering the traumas Alastor had endured, it would be suicide by magical means.

"Please, can you have Miss McGonagall leave?" Alastor hoarsely requested.

_Miss McGonagall._ Alastor was too young to be a classmate and too old to be one of her students, yet he always called her Miss McGonagall. Terence Moody had been the very epitome of politeness so she shouldn't be surprised that Alastor insisted on using the proper title. _Miss McGonagall_. It didn't make her feel any less decrepit.

"No," Albus firmly stated, preventing Minerva from leaving with a shake of his head. "You must accept the fact that Minerva will be nursing you, Alastor."

Minerva glared at Albus as the bastard hadn't even asked. No, he had just arrived on her doorstep with the injured Alastor. But yet, where else could he go? Poppy was on the continent as her grandchild was due any day now.

"Arthur, a proper robe, I beg you," Alastor plaintively appealed to the family man. "A suitable length so I can be presentable. There is a lady present."

"Let me," Minerva interjected as she realized what exactly Alastor didn't wish her see. Not so much his nethers, but the remains of his right leg. "May I use my wand?"

"Please," Alastor requested. "I'd like a flannel robe as I'm quite chilled."

With a practiced swish and flick, she Transfigured Alastor's short knee length hospital into a longer flannel robe that reached below his mid-calf. It was a trifle bit too long, but not so long that Alastor would trip on it.

"Thank you, Miss McGonagall," Alastor hoarsely whispered. He sounded exhausted as well he should be after recent events.

"Minerva," she retorted. "If you're staying in my spare room, you'll have to call me, Minerva."

* * *

"I'm sorry that I brought him here without so much as a warning, but it wasn't safe in St. Mungo's. For him and for everyone else," explained Albus. "I need to put him with someone I can trust will be able to handle _**any**_ situation. That's why you immediately came to mind."

"Idle flatterer," retorted the pragmatic Minerva as she pour them both a cup of tea. While she was an Order Member, she wasn't a blind Devotee in the Cult of Dumbledore. "Cut the con job. Biscuit?"

"No, thank you, but seriously, as a former Auror, you can comprehend the trauma he's endured. You're an excellent duelist and…"

"I'm the only Order member who has a spare bedroom that isn't being decorated as a nursery," retorted Minerva. "Longbottoms, Potters and the Weasleys are all out for that reason."

"No… that's not the reason, Minerva, though now that you mention it, it seems quite a good idea not to have Alastor around children. Arthur would have taken him in, but Alastor's very… tetchy. I think the controlled chaos of the Weasley family might be too much for our shattered friend." Albus then sighed and rubbed his temples.

"It's a bloody good thing you found Alastor," Minerva said. "He would have died if you hadn't located him. You never did tell me how you got the information."

"In time, Minerva," Albus explained. "I am not ready to reveal my source. He's convinced me of his sincerity in switching sides but I am uncertain of how well he is able to keep our secrets."

"You love having the air of mystery about you," teased Minerva. "Speaking of which, who is replacing Horace?"

"I need a Potions Master this fall, don't I? I've quite forgotten that position, as I'm still attempting to fill the Defense vacancy. Fortunately, I don't have to find another Divination instructor." Albus attempted to look innocent but failed miserably. Instead, he looked dangerously amused at his own cleverness. "I filled that one last year."

Minerva snorted, "It's tripe! I can not believe you're keeping that subject. And your new instructor? She's a drunkard, Albus."

"I'm inclined to agree with you on many of your excellent points, but traditions _**must**_ be maintained. Rest assured, I have a candidate in mind for Potions. I'll have to see if he's interested and his other obligations won't interfere," assured Albus. "Speaking of potions, I took Alastor's potions and poultices from St. Mungo's. He'll need to continue them but I want you to watch his reactions to the medications. He's quite paranoid. I'm not sure how much is natural and how much might be side effects of the medications."

And so that is how Minerva McGonagall became Alastor Moody's keeper during a long, hot summer.

* * *

As a former Auror, Minerva McGonagall had enough training to be a fairly competent emergency mediwitch. She could restart a stopped heart, amputate a leg, stop uncontrollable bleeding and even deliver a baby. With an arched eyebrow and a few succinct words, she cut even the most arrogant of school children back down to size. Having faced the worst that the Wizardly World produced, she had come from the experience, intimately knowing both her strengths and her weaknesses.

Minerva McGonagall deemed that none of her current skills would be helpful in dealing with the traumatized Alastor Moody. Yet as a former Auror and a fellow Order member, she would struggle to help Alastor even though it would be in her typical, no-nonsense manner.

"Don't let me bugger this up," she prayed all night long. While slightly improper, her prayers were sincere and heart felt.

The next morning, she walked into Alastor's bedroom at seven in the morning. Her wand was in her right pocket and her hand was resting upon it. It didn't help that the Hogwarts' motto was repeating itself in her mind.

_Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus._

Never tickle a sleeping dragon. Or should it be _Alastor_ _Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus?_

"Good Morning, Alastor," she clearly enunciated. "Breakfast will be served in the kitchen in one hour. Will you need assistance in making yourself presentable?"

Her reflexes keenly honed after teaching a generation and more of magical youths, she was able to easy deflect the half-awake Alastor's Hexes into the large stone fireplace. The fire blazed merrily for a bit. A piece of Highland stoneware shattered as one Hex escaped from her control and hit the fireplace mantle instead. A shaken Minerva surveyed the wreckage and pursed her lips.

Yes, it was best to appear displeased rather than frightened.

"I never particularly cared for that overly ornamental vase but that was an antique from my mother's side. I hope, Alastor, that you will make an effort at not destroying the rest of my heirlooms? Or should I put everything breakable away?" For good measure, she added a scorching amount of censure in her tone. "While none of them are particularly dear, they do hold sentimental value to me."

"Best you put me in a cave…" rasped Alastor. "Be safer for you. Your valuables."

For a moment, Minerva remembered how Alastor had once sounded. He had possessed a pleasant baritone that still carried traces of Ireland but now, he cawed like a crow.

"Rubbish! You're a House Guest. I don't put my guests in a cave or a barn. You still haven't answered me, will you need assistance?"

"Miss McGonagall…" he began.

"I don't hear you," she interrupted. "Miss McGonagall is not here. Miss McGonagall is not in habit of opening her cottage to men who will not call her by her first name. Miss McGonagall fears being known as a harlot."

"Miss McGonagall should take more care of her reputation," protested Alastor.

"Miss McGonagall's an old, spinster school teacher. Everyone knows that she doesn't have a social life and that she only lives to teach empty, little heads. In the summertime, she is rumored to be hard at work at Hogwarts, dreaming up new ways to torture students," was her response. "She certainly would not be entertaining a man in her bedroom, spare or otherwise. Minerva McGonagall, on the other hand, does. With great frequency. Scandalizes her neighbors."

Her tart rejoinder caused Alastor to horribly grimace. Minerva feared that he was in pain, but then realized that he was smiling. Her asperity had amused him, it seemed.

_Oh, my poor wounded lion. _

"I am in dire need of your kind assist, Miss Minerva," whispered Alastor.

"Very well, you'll need to inform me what needs to be done and how you fancy it to be handled. I would have preferred if we had hashed this out yesterday, but you needed to slumber. What you need, I may not have available. It will take time for us to break in this new broom together, Alastor."

"Arthur drugged me," growled Minerva's patient.

"You were ashen and trembling in exhaustion. A sleeping draught seemed quite appropriate treatment for you. First things first, you probably need to make use of the toilet. Then you need a bath and a shave. You look utterly disreputable," she firmly stated.

"Can't get into a tub of hot water," protested Alastor. "Stump isn't ready. I can't shower because I to weak to stand unaided. Just Scourgify me."

"Chamber pot first," insisted Minerva.

* * *

He had been _**dumped**_ onto Minerva McGonagall. Alastor knew very little about her except that she was a professor at Hogwarts and was rather highly ranked in Albus' Order of the Phoenix. James and Lily Potter and the rest of younger Phoenix members spoke highly, if slightly fearfully of her, but still… to be cast off… like an unwanted kitten on a woman he didn't know.

It galled him.

Nay, it frightened him because he wasn't sure if he could trust Minerva McGonagall with his safety.

They were coming for him, he knew it.

Emily Selwyn had managed to easily slip in through all the protective Wardings at St. Mungo's, slaughter two of his closest friends and then nearly take him unawares. Only a fortunate case of insomnia that had kept him awake had enabled him to notice the magical disturbance and react instinctively.

Alastor Moody trusted Albus and loved Arthur Weasley like a brother, and they had both repeatedly assured him that he'd be safe with Miss… no… Minerva. That's the only explanation on why he agreed to be dumped on her doorstep. Oh yes, he'd be safe and sound, as his reflexes were honed to a hair-trigger. Take the way he had nearly Hexed Minerva McGonagall into being bound and restrained in a hundred different ways because she had the _**gall**_ to wake him for breakfast.

Oh yes, he'd be safe, but Minerva was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

His lack of self-control frightened him as Alastor always prided himself on his restraint, in his ability to follow the proper moral path. When the Ministry had given permission to his fellow Aurors to use the Unforgiveables, he had refrained from using them. They were too easy to use and once they were cast, they had a way of destroying a man's soul.

But he was a man, a proud man. The loss of his dignity bothered him far more than the loss of his leg.

To use a chamber pot in front of Minerva McGonagall! How utterly disgraceful!

* * *

"Just close your eyes and think of the Order," Minerva suggested when she began Alastor 's flannel bath.

The mediwitches had Scourgified Alastor as it had been easier for them. Shouldn't… couldn't… really blame them as they were overworked and understaffed, but Scourgifying Albus had further inflamed his stump. It was sore and irritated and there was no way he'd be able to put any weight on it for a spell. Plus, he did smell a bit… rank… not in a bad way, but enough to disturb Minerva's sensitive cat nose.

"Aye," he softly rasped. Minerva smiled as she thought that the wounded lion was agreeing with her, but her smile quickly faded when she realized that he had actually said, "Eye".

"Eye" as in only one eye.

His good eye was scrunched closed and he turned his head away for her, so the side with his missing eye was flush against his pillow.

Best be efficient and professional about the matter, Minerva thought so she briskly cleaned and washed the various odds and ends of Alastor Moody. Every part of him except for his face was covered with a heated blanket. She only bared the spot she was washing at the last possible moment before drying and re-covering it. To pass the time, Minerva talked about Quidditch, she made inane comments about the weather and she even discussed the history behind the piece of stoneware that was now only a memory.

And when Alastor had broken down into tears, she pretended not to notice.

Even wounded lions have their dignity, she knew.

At last, she could do no more. There were certain anatomical areas that were distinctively no-Minerva-Land and Alastor was required to clean them.

"You can finish washing yourself," she crisply stated. "When you're done, let me know. I need to create some proper clothing for you as it wouldn't be respectable for you to lounge around wearing nothing but a dressing gown. It would ruin your reputation."

Alastor barked a rumbling laugh which turned into a hacking cough.

"Reputation is everything," she tartly reminded him. "It's the Golden Rule for spinster School Teachers. Now, let me give you some privacy. When you're done, let me know and I should have something for you to wear for breakfast."

She stood up, straightened her shirt and then looked at the fire place mantle and the damage from Moody's misredirected Hex. Bloody hell, if she hadn't be quick on her wand, at best, she would have ended up flat on her back. Minerva sincerely doubted that Alastor Moody had fired off a Cheering Charm.

_Don't show any fear_, she reminded herself. _He's nothing more than a large Firstie. You must treat his magical explosions the same way you would a student. Radiate complete confidence that you'll be able to handle anything he might do. _

"I'm taking the carriage clock. It was my grandfather's and it has great sentimental value to me. Feel free to destroy the rest of the knick knacks," she declared. "Though you will have to clean up after your tantrum."

Regally, she turned her back on him and walked with complete self-assurance the four paces to the door, willing her limbs not to tremble.

* * *

Alastor Moody wished once more that he had the common sense to roll over and die when the Rosiers and their friends had ambushed him and his young partner. No, instead he had endeavored to defend the dying Marcus with every last ounce of his being. For all his Herculean efforts, he had been protecting a corpse by the time Albus and his marshaled Order troops had arrived.

What use was he now to Albus' glorious cause?

**_NONE!_**

Maimed, he was no good to anyone, even himself.

Couldn't even wash himself.

The witch had cleaned him with a soapy flannel like he was a babe and had even washed his hair. With a remarkable equanimity, as though it was something she did every day, she had put the drops in his empty eye socket and had liberally applied the narcotic compound onto his stump.

"Just close your eyes and think of the Order," she had ordered and Alastor had done so.

He tried to keep himself detached from the situation. It was just a set of hands, not a person, not someone with which he had infrequently shared a cuppa. Her voice was soft as the witch talked about the most inane things. To his deep surprise, the silliness of her conversation did not anger him. Instead, Alastor found it relaxing. Quidditch, weather and a brief overview of Scottish stoneware required no actions from him besides listening. There were no muffled gasps of horror when she saw the extent of his scarring. No chirpy, patently faux, assurances that the festering wound would heal cleanly and be completely unnoticeable.

The warmth of the wet flannel, the soothing motions of being made truly clean for the first time in too long and the heated blankets help loosen his tight muscles. He no longer stunk of ashes, blood and dead.

No, the soap reminded him of the Highlands.

Nothing too flowery, but a pleasant smell.

It reminded him of home, hearth and safety. Completely disconnecting himself from his present, he daydreamed of times long past. He remembered when Diana agreed to marry him and of her desire to wait until their union was consecrated by the Goddess. They had grown emotionally so close while they delayed the physical.

Diana had taught him how to dance. He couldn't believe his luck that a burly, ginger haired bloke like him had such a fine woman in his arms.

Never had been very good with the fairer sex, as he had been physically and socially awkward compared to his peers. Alastor had gotten his growth and weight early plus he had inherited his father's strict code of conduct. That meant when his peers were picking on the ickle ones, he was the lone one defending them either by wand or by fist. Didn't like being like that, but it was like his Da always told him. Because of his talents, because of his size, it was morally imperative that he be a defender, not a tormenter.

"I believe that the Pride of Portree Quidditch team has a better chance this year," the witch calmly stated after she had medicated his eye socket. "Do you agree?"

Yes, his dignity was maintained due to her unwavering efforts at keeping his pride intact, yet Alastor couldn't explain for the life of him why he broke down in tears. He wasn't a Pride of Portree fan, Alastor Moody was a flag waving Ballycastle Bat man.

* * *

Carefully, she placed the carriage clock on a side table located in the hallway. With a quick flick and a stabbing motion with her wand, Minerva McGonagall wrapped the clock in enough protective spells to ensure its survival even if a Muggle bomb dropped on her house. It was then that she allowed herself to come undone, and collapse into a chair. Her hands shook and she nervously swallowed.

"Alastor will accidentally kill me," she predicted. "He'll feel quite badly about it afterwards, but his heartfelt regret will do me no good."

She shook her head and gave herself a stern what's what.

"Alastor Moody is a member of the Order and he is an Auror. You will just have to be prepared for anything with him. Albus sent him to me because I am the best chance he has. God help my poor wounded lion."

Her Scottish grit and pragmatism once again reaffirmed, she pondered the difficulties of clothing one Alastor Moody. He was a big man, broad shouldered and far taller than she was. He was roughly her Faither's size, and Minerva remembered purchasing Gavan McGonagall a few new odds and ends before he had died. Missing Gavan's good-hearted presence deeply, Minerva had kept the barely worn clothes, vowing to give them to someone that could truly use them.

Alastor Moody was truly in need and her loving Faither would not begrudge the use.

"I'll speak to Albus about getting him some pants. Now, where did I put Faither's clothes?" Minerva questioned. She walked to the hall closet and began rummaging through the various bins. There were some fuzzy socks and some pyjamas that Faither had never worn besides the dressing gown and night shirt.

Very well, Alastor would be clothed but how was she supposed to get the Mountain to the dining room? She couldn't Floo Call Arthur Weasley and the idea of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew being on retainer for such situations made her head ache. What did the Muggles call those contraptions? Chairs with wheels? No… wheel chair. Very well, she located a suitable chair and transfigured it into something similar. She sat in it and gave the larger wheels a gingerly push, modifying the chair until she was happy.

Next problem was that the doors weren't wide enough for Alastor's chariot, so that cottage wide revision required a neat bit of wandwork. That accomplished, she made a mental list of what else caring for Alastor would mandate; a roll in shower as the wounded lion had been terribly mortified about his "Flannel Bath by Spinster". But she was putting the hippogriff before the cart as she needed to get Alastor fed. Their breakfast had long since turned into a brunch.

She knocked on his bedroom door and asked permission to enter. There was a guttural croak, which she hoped was his permission and so Minerva entered, pushing the wheelchair.

"Your chariot awaits," Minerva quipped.

Alastor saw the wheelchair and grimaced. Yes, he frowned, as she was beginning to differentiate the minute differences in his various expressions. He was lying in bed, on his side and he was covered with blankets.

"Can you sit up? I have new clothes for you," Minerva requested. She had stripped him when she had given him his flannel bath so she wasn't sure how he'd react. Grabbing a spare continental quilt, she then held it front of him to give him a modicum of privacy. "Sit up and then I'll drape this over you. I have a nightshirt and a dressing gown plus some socks."

"Sock," Alastor tersely reminded her.

"Sit up," she repeated. Deliberately, she turned her face away from Alastor just in case something slipped when he sat up. The bed shifted and there were a few painful sounding moans before Alastor said that he was sitting. "Take the quilt and wrap it around yourself."

After he had done so, Minerva turned towards him. Alastor was sitting on the edge of the bed with his lone leg dangling over the side. Deliberately, she looked fully on his face, refusing to let him know how his ruined face disturbed her. It wasn't Alastor himself that distressed her; it was the sheer rage she felt toward Evan Rosier.

"Nightshirt?" She asked.

"Sock," he requested. "Foot is cold. Would you mind? I think I might fall out of bed if I attempt it."

"Absolutely," she assured him. Deliberately, she knelt before him and carefully picked up his foot. Casting a nonverbal warming spell on the sock, she easily put it on him. For good measure, she put on a baffy though he hadn't requested a slipper.

"Marvelous," he sighed. "Both were cold. Now I have one that's warm and the other that's chilly."

"I can put one on your other leg," offered Minerva. "I can make sure that it's not too tight."

"No, it's fine," he softly protested.

Merlin's beard, Alastor didn't want her to look at his leg!

"Alastor," Minerva protested from where she was sitting on the floor. "I've seen your leg, Alastor. I rubbed the poultice on it earlier today."

"I know," he softly admitted. "Sometimes… it feels like it's still there and then… I look and realize anew that this isn't a horrible dream. It's time to completely accept the fact that I am missing a leg. Socks are for feet, not for stumps."

For the first time, Minerva realized how young Alastor Moody truly was. He was only in his late-thirties? He had always been a rock-solid presence at the Order meetings, what with his large build and his towering reputation. Why was it such a surprise to her that she had viewed him as a contemporary, especially when compared to the High Spirited Marauders?

Alastor always had possessed an Old Soul.

"Very well, let's get you dressed and ready for breakfast?" Minerva crisply questioned.

"Please."

* * *

As Alastor feared, it was complicated getting him dressed. There was nerve damage in his right arm and he required Minerva's assistance in getting into his nightshirt. The blanket slipped during the process and Minerva got quite the gander. She said nothing, didn't so much as blink as she continued to maneuver his uncooperative arm through the armhole.

Alastor, on the other hand, knew he was red from shame. What would his Da say?

"Don't be embarrassed," Minerva assured him after she had finished wrestling him into a dressing gown. "My fault. I forgot that your shoulder is buggered up. Now, here comes the fun part, can you lean on me, and pivot? So we can get you into the chair?"

He refused, fearing that supporting his dead weight would cause Minerva to collapse. By utilizing the bedpost and with a great deal of effort, he landed in the wheel chair.

"Good," Her approval was quite obvious. "Now, the dining room is down the hallway on the left. I'll meet you there as I must get breakfast started. You'll have to get yourself down there as you need to exercise. Else you might get pneumonia or develop a clot. We'll do this again tomorrow, but tomorrow, you'll have to shave before breakfast. You're looking rather rough, Alastor."

* * *

When she came out of the kitchen with a heavily laden tray, she found Alastor at the dining room table. The hundred meters or so to the dining room had exhausted him as he was asleep in the chair. Minerva silently put the tray down so not to wake him. Carefully, she placed a blanket over him so he wouldn't catch a chill.

"To all, to each, a fair good-night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light," she quoted. "Sleep well, my wounded lion for I will guard your sleep."


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: First Wizarding War Era. Alastor isn't the lumbering control freak we all know and love, well, not just yet.

* * *

Through sheer strength of will, her patient had managed to wheel himself to the dining room, but the physical effort had exhausted him. Minerva, upon finding Alastor Moody asleep in his wheelchair, simply covered him with a soft blanket and let him be. Breakfast time turned into Brunch, and shortly became afternoon tea as a weary Alastor slept away the day.

Though Alastor was sleeping, that didn't mean that Minerva wasn't relieved when Remus Lupin stopped by to give her a brief respite. Albus had assured her that she wouldn't be completely responsible for Alastor's care but she had curtly reminded him that Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black would be worse than no help. With their high jinks and shenanigans, Alastor would get no rest.

"Remus, if you don't mind, since you have everything under control, I'll just into the other room and rest my eyes for a bit," she requested.

The werewolf easily agreed.

The witch then fled to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed. She needed to be completely rested when she watched Alastor overnight, she knew.

Minerva didn't realize how exhausted she truly was until she woke, shocked that she had slept for most of the afternoon. Taking care of Alastor was akin to taking care of a two year old, albeit one that weighed a good fifteen stone. Her fatigue was not helped by the fact that she had skipped breakfast, brunch and tea. God knew that the end of the school year always found run down. How did Albus expect her to survive the summer nursing Alastor?

Yet how did Albus suppose Alastor would _**survive**_ if he didn't spend the summer at château McGonagall?

Dumbledore doesn't, she thought.

"It's not easy for Alastor," she chastised herself as that notion propelled out of her bed and back on her feet. She quickly brushed her hair to make herself presentable. "Patience, Minerva. He has no one else except for the Order."

She looked at herself in the mirror and her reflection shook her head.

"You look like hell," her reflection primly informed her. Reflections were just so vain about their appearances, Minerva growled.

"And you look like a pale copy," Minerva retorted.

* * *

Remus was, thankfully, a good visitor. He was an agreeable companion when Alastor got on a talking jag and wanted to chat. Most importantly, he kept his mouth shut otherwise, refusing to voice any platitudes. The werewolf was also a competent wizard as he managed to adapt Minerva's wheel chair so it hovered over the grass. Not too much, but enough so he didn't get stuck and the chair didn't jar. Though Alastor knew his thoughts weren't worth anything, he still silently blessed Remus for that kindness. Despite the potions the Healers gave him, Alastor's stump pained him, especially when it was jostled.

The last time he had been outside to take in a breath of fresh air seemed a life time ago and was precisely a leg, an eye and few spare body parts ago.

"Took a stroll around the yard," he rasped when Minerva asked where the two men had gone.

Being a instructor for so long, her lips didn't so much as quiver despite the incongruity of his quip. Instead Minerva merely asked if he had gotten as far as the lake. When he responded in the negative, she suggested that on his next trip outdoors, he should.

"Good fishing if you're into that," Minerva advised.

"Aye," Alastor answered. "My Da taught me how to cast."

For a moment, he thought about his Da, how he had patiently taught Alastor how to cast. Alastor and Terence didn't catch a lot of fish when they went out. For the two Moodys, fishing was mainly time for them to have a somber man to man discussion. They had talked about decency and integrity, how they both missed Alastor's mom and about… girls and how strange they made Alastor feel. Sometimes, the two of them had said absolutely nothing as it was a time for serious thinking. Yet Terence had also taught him the joy of reflecting on life by lying on one's back and having a close inspection of one's hat while the fish swum by, unmolested.

Yes, perhaps, an afternoon at the lake might be a good chance for him to reflect on his recent losses. He wouldn't keep anything that had the misfortune of getting hooked…

What rubbish! He couldn't cast, not with the way his right hand was misbehaving.

"Stay for dinner?" Minerva politely requested the werewolf.

Remus claimed a previous engagement, stating that the Potters had already invited him for dinner. That left just the two of them alone. Moody had never had been much of a conversationalist, but fortunately, their silence was more companionable than awkward. After dinner was to have been a chance to read or listen to music in the sitting room, but Alastor found himself nodding off while Minerva was seriously explaining to him exactly why Gaelic Fruit was the perfect afters. It was terribly rude of him, but Alastor simply couldn't keep his eyes open.

"It covers the three most important food groups, fruit, chocolate and whiskey!" Minerva finally clarified and then she put a gentle hand on his left shoulder. "Time to get you to bed."

"Wanted to listen to music," he feebly protested. "Can sleep later."

Once upon a time, Alastor had played the fiddle. Moody had even been considered a decent player but now with the nerve damage in his right arm, it was doubtful he'd ever be able to put bow to string ever again. His injury didn't mean that he couldn't listen and lose himself in the music, allow him to pretend for a bit that his life wasn't as bleak as it truly was.

"Bedtime," insisted Minerva.

Then the ritual of humiliation continued as he needed to use the chamber pot. Again, Minerva let him keep his dignity intact by completely refusing to acknowledge the situation. When he was at last in bed with assorted pillows fluffed and his stump placed just so, Minerva turned to leave.

"Tomorrow, I'll put railings up the bathroom to make it easier," Minerva softly informed him. "Plus get you in some proper clothes. Maybe a saffron kilt? That would be easier than trousers."

"As long as it's long enough to cover my knees when I sit down," he insisted. Moody flushed when he realized how utterly barmy that request was. He had only one knee and therefore, he had only one kneecap. "Though I know it should be mid kneecap."

"I'll have to see what clothes I have left that belong to my father. He was about your size when he was in fighting form. Got a little softer 'round the middle when he got older, so we might have to alter everything to fit you."

He reached for her sleeve, not wanting to be too familiar with the witch, but still wanting her to stay. Alastor was uncomfortable with his ghosts and he hoped that her formidable presence would keep them at bay.

"Thank you," he hoarsely growled. Wishing to eloquently express his appreciation for how she was putting up with him, he was only able to say those two words. Nevertheless, he tried to put something into the words, so she'd know. Alastor hadn't been born with a silver tongue, and no matter how hard he struggled to be eloquent, his tone was, at best, gruff and abrupt.

"'Tis nothing," she responded. To his surprise, Minerva leaned down and kissed his on his cheek. "Pleasant dreams, lad."

* * *

He dozed for a bit but not for too long. His dreams were visited by Marcus and if that wasn't bad enough, the Prewett twins decided to come a callin', intent on mischief. The worst nights were the ones were he was visited by his Da. His father's stopovers brought him no comfort. Terence had done his best raising him after Alastor's mom had died. He had taught his son right from wrong and had relentlessly forced his son to follow the correct way even when it wasn't easiest. That simple truth was why Alastor had long accepted that his relationship with his father wasn't particularly effortless. Nothing worthwhile was ever easy.

Instead of bringing him a sliver of fatherly compassions, the imaginings of his Da deeply disturbed him. Maybe, because Alastor was only the remnants of the man he had once been, and his father had been so unforgiving of even the most minor of imperfections.

His life was over.

Alastor had lacked the good sense just to roll over and die. No, some bloody bastard had turned traitor to Snake Face and had delivered him to Albus. Complete with a ruddy bloody bow.

For what?

A life full of pain, loneliness and uselessness. He could handle the pain, had ignored his overwhelming loneliness in the years since his Diana and his Da had died, but to have no purpose in his life? His Da had instilled in him the value a life of service towards others. Alastor had gifts, he had to use them…but what the bloody hell could he do now? Get wheeled out once a year to the new Aurors trainees as an example of this might happen to you?

Now that he was awake, Alastor knew that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep for that night. His right leg was throbbing so he decided just to stare at the ceiling. He did take a smidgeon of pain potion. Not too much as Moody didn't like how it made him feel cabbaged.

There was some noise in the room and Alastor carefully reached for his wand. His trusty wand was right there next to him. Alastor was quite prepared for when THEY came for him. And they would, as they had promised that they'd be back.

Seems a wasted effort for whoever had grown a set and decided to turn traitor.

Something bounced on the bed and his wand swiveled to meet it. He should stun first, ask questions later but the potential mass destruction of Minerva's valuables came to mind. Alastor wished to not destroy any more of Minerva's valuables. Da had been quite disapproving over that bit of magical mayhem, and Terence Moody had severely chastised him.

But he needed to defend himself. They'd be back for him.

_**They**_ had promised after all. So yes, Stun first….

A silver tabby cat stared in disgust at his wand, her ears flat against her head.

"Easy, moggy," Alastor hoarsely whispered as he put his wand away. He tried to make his voice softer and smoother. "Easy… you must be the owner of all the catnip toys I saw sprinkled round."

He held out his left hand and the cat sniffed it for a bit. The cat leaned a little closer to him as though giving him permission to scratch her. Carefully, he scratched behind her ears and he was rewarded with a chirp.

"Like that?" He questioned. "Stay for a bit and I'll scratch you behind your ears. Just… watch out for the right side. It's painin' me tonight…Medication should kick in shortly."

The cat carefully crept towards him and pushed her head into his hand. The kitty decided that the perfect spot to receive her due worship from her adoring follower was to lie smack dab in the middle of the great man's chest It was a good spot, Alastor agreed, as both his hands were able to stroke the kitty. In appreciation for his ministrations, the cat began to loudly purr. It was a comforting sound, Alastor decided.

Alastor began talking to the cat. It was mainly stupid topics at first, such as his disappointment that he had missed celebrating Litha. His Da had raised him in the old ways and it was the first time he had not marked summer solstice. It wasn't one of the main Sabbats, but Alastor had always been particularly partial to it.

As he grew more comfortable talking, he hesitantly confessed his uncertainty about his future. It was easy chatting with the cat. She didn't interrupt or give him a fake happy clappy attitude claiming that everything was absolutely fab. No, the feline let him ramble and her paws were carefully kneading his chest just so, with her claws retracted as so not to harm him. Her purring grew softer as she easily drifted off to sleep.

"No good to anyone like this," he confessed to the drowsy cat. "Can't get a prosthesis as my stump's still inflamed. I can't get a glass eye as my eye socket's not healed enough for that and the damn eye patch gives me a headache."

He continued to pass his hands through her warm fur. It was oddly soothing to stroke a purring kitty. Maybe, because it reminded him of youthful innocence.

"It amazes me… that you don't lose your lunch looking at me, Tabby. I don't know what I do without you, Minerva." He softly admitted that to the sleeping cat.

* * *

Alastor Moody and Minerva McGonagall played a deceitful but necessary game that summer. Not quite Tig, but still a rather childish diversion. If she didn't acknowledge a situation that would normally embarrass Alastor, then it simply never occurred. Their subintelligitur was a balm to Alastor's wounded soul as his dignity was maintained. For example, an uncomplaining Alastor swallowed the bitter pill that Minerva watched him when he slept. If she was a Cat when she did it, well, Alastor would pretend that the Tabby was a Real Cat, not an animagus. And if the Tabby gently nipped him to wake him from his nightmares, well, it was just an exceedingly smart feline.

Tabby Therapy worked quite well for both of them, Minerva was delighted to realize. Moody would natter about whatever was bothering him and Minerva the Cat would get an absolutely wondrous backrub. Alastor Moody's large, callused hands were deliciously warm and talented and did wonders for her dodgy back. Plus, his large frame was a warm cozy spot for Minerva the cat to have a nice 'lie in".

And was it too scandalous that Minerva was partial to men built like her Dad? She liked her men built like oak trees, tall and sturdy, solid and dependable with deep roots.

A tentative bond was forged and it grew progressively stronger over the summer. Alastor relaxed once he accepted that Minerva would follow their unspoken rules in their new pastime. The fact that he had compulsively covered the mirrors in his room with black drapes was duly uncommented upon. In turn, Alastor did not protest when Minerva proceeded to color Alastor's drapes to match her curtains.

And so their days and nights continued. There was a litany of days spent sitting on the porch, sunning themselves like two cats, and nights spent by the fireplace. The monotony was broken by the all too rare, carefully screened visitors. No one too boisterous was allowed, which left Peter, James and Sirius at home while the roundly pregnant Alice Longbottom and Lilly Potter and their bellies entertained Alastor. Every few days, Albus and Arthur arrived on her doorstep to escort Alastor to the Healers at St. Mungo's. These Healer visits exhausted Alastor and he spent the next day recovering in bed.

"How are you holding up, Minerva?" questioned Arthur.

"I'm doing fine," she unconvincingly insisted. Actually, she felt like Sisyphus rolling that damn stone up the hill only to watch it roll back down again. Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted besides being exasperated by her fatigue, Minerva knew that she was close to physical collapse, but like bloody hell would she let anyone know. All she needed was one full night's sleep and she'd be right as rain. "How's Molly? The children?"

"Ron's had colic. It's been a little rough," he explained. "How's Moody?"

"His right arm isn't healing so he still can't use crutches to get around," whispered Minerva. "In fact, he's using it less each and every day. Albus? Are you _**sure**_ about this Healer?"

"The Aurors recommend him," Albus murmured. They were deliberately keeping their voices low to ensure that Alastor did not overhear their conversation. Minerva's personal perpetual Peter Pan considered what she had said and nodded his head. "I must confess to having my doubts about his recovery."

In a louder voice, Albus called for Moody, warning that he and Arthur were there.

"Anything I should tell the Healer?" Albus questioned in softer voice. "Have you noticed anything?"

"He's not getting better," a worried Minerva admitted. Left unsaid was that she believed Alastor had hallucinations. She had taken to leaving Alastor alone for brief periods during the day, figuring that her constant hovering was turning her into a Scottish Molly Weasley. She was aware of Alastor was as she still kept a close watch on her charge. There were times she heard him talking to the late Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Those conversations weren't so awful as apparently being dead had not changed the Prewett twins' devilish natures one smidgeon, but Minerva truly worried about the talks he had with his father?

Those were chilling.

Alastor turned into a terrified firstie when he was set upon by his father's specter.

_Yes, I'm acting respectable towards Miss McGonagall. I'm a perfect gentleman like you taught me. It was shameful about the blanket slipping. I hadn't done it on purpose. It had slipped! I didn't mean for her to get a gander of my middle leg. I swear it, Da! I can't grasp that well with my right hand._

_I didn't mean to shatter her vase. I'll find her a replacement. It won't be the same, I know... I know… Yes, I know I can't make amends that easily as it was an appalling lack of self- control._

_Yes, I want to walk again. No, no, no… I __**AM**__ trying but my stump… I can't put any weight on it. I don't know why! I swear to you, Da, I'm doing everything the Healers say to do. I don't want to be a cripple, sitting in a chair for the rest of my life. I'd end it first. I know… I know… you don't think I'm putting out any effort. Don't cane me, Da. I know I'm a whinging mardarse. I know… Mum would be so disappointed in me. _

Those times, she'd make a loud commotion before entering the room so he could compose himself.

"How well did you know his father," Minerva asked.

"Terence? Not well," admitted Albus. "I first met him when Alastor was sick with the Mongolian flu during his first year at Hogwarts. He was quite sick and Terence stayed for the entire week in the infirmary. Terence refused to leave Alastor's side. Also twice a school year, he also would request my permission to remove Alastor for the weekend so they could fish. With his wife dead, Alastor was the only family he had and Terence truly missed his son when he was at Hogwarts."

"Arthur?" the witch questioned.

"My father was good friends with Terence. He was a great deal like our friend Alastor, very moral, very stern and bit of a perfectionist. He was an exceptional Auror and his conduct was always irreproachable," was Arthur's ready answer. "He wouldn't have stooped to the Unforgiveables, even with permission. He was rough around the edges."

"But how did he and Alastor get along?" was her next question.

"As Albus said, it was just the two of them after his Mum died, and Terence was devoted to his son. He always wanted the best for Alastor, but Terence made Alastor work it. Alastor got no shortcuts in becoming an Auror just because his father was one. If anything, he was graded harder than any other intern they ever had in the office. Any particular reason you're curious about Terence Moody?" Arthur asked.

"I don't know much about Alastor," Minerva lied. "Thought I should learn a little more about him. Can you ask the healer if Alastor can have a sip of wine with his meals?"

Actually, Minerva realized that she knew far too much about one Alastor Moody. He was a man of action brought face to face to his physical limitations, a grieving child struggling to please his brassbound yet loving father and a wounded lion in dire need of somebody he could trust. For that reason, Minerva impulsively decided not to inform Arthur or Albus about Alastor's strange conversations. Instead, she vowed that she would work a little harder with her Alastor, she vowed. Get him outside more often to prevent him from going stir crazy, and get Alastor walking before she returned to school. She would see to that. Time was running short for her noble plan as it was already late July.

First things first, she decided. He regretted not celebrating Litha? Minerva would build him a bonfire, complete with the sacred herbs and bestow on him a garland of flowers. While she was not of Alastor's faith, Minerva hoped that his Goddess would be kind-hearted enough to accept his devotion, even if he was a wee bit late.

Secondly, she needed Galleons from Albus. She held out her open palm and not so delicately coughed. Albus quirked an eyebrow.

"I need Galleons," she politely informed Albus. Then, not quite as politely, she added, "Just give me a key to one of your smaller vaults, Albus. I'll give you an itemized receipt later. I have an idea for Alastor, but it will be costly. Naturally, I'm sure you'll spare no expense."

"Albus is generous like that," offered a helpful Arthur.

"Spare no expense," Albus assured her. "But what are you getting him?"

"I'm getting him a broom," Minerva announced. She had been in contact with fellow Order member Edgar Bones who was bit of a speed freak and always modifying his Nimbus. He had created a prototype that might allow Alastor to fly again. "It's a surprise."

Albus wasn't particularly athletic, at best, he tolerated Quidditch games and the hero worship of the Hogwarts Quidditch stars. He couldn't understand why getting Alastor on a broom might be exactly what Doctor Minerva ordered. Arthur, on the other hand, grinned.

"You talked to Edgar, didn't you? He was asking me a few questions about Alastor, thinking a back support might be useful so he wouldn't have to crouch. Edgar has this simply fascinating idea of creating a broom that Alastor could ride like a motorcycle. Most remarkable thing as it uses an engine to cause Muggles to move over the ground!" Arthur Weasley eagerly explained. "Wouldn't have to bend his legs. I think the Muggles call it a chopper?"

"Chopper?" Minerva repeated. Looking at Albus' blank face didn't help her unease one bit.

"Edgar showed me his plans. It'll be a broom unlike any other!" Arthur exclaimed. Then while Albus was making a loud palaver about locating his vault keys, Arthur confided in Minerva. "Albus did the right thing by bringing Alastor to you."

* * *

His honor guard had arrived to take him to his appointment with the Healers. With a final careful check of his kilt, Alastor sat down in his wheelchair. He positioned his stump on the support board before he wheeled himself into the hallway where Albus, Minerva and Arthur were waiting for him. They all looked guilty as hell, so he knew that he was the subject of their conversation. To hide his discomfort, he fussed over kilt, wanting to ensure that it covered everything. Miss McGonagall wouldn't get a flash of his nethers energetically waving in the brisk Scottish air, as he wasn't wearing it regimental style. Nevertheless, he didn't want to be flaunting his short leg.

"Man of the hour is here," he rasped. "Shall we be off?"

Albus nodded his head and politely asked, "Do you wish to Apparate?"

Stupid question, Alastor mentally growled. His magic was still erratic as hell, and he'd be likely to end up sprinkled up all over the gardens of Timbuktu if he was foolish enough to try. Yet Albus was deliberately not treating Alastor as though he was infirm.

"Side along," he growled.

Arthur gently placed his hand on Alastor's shoulder. "Albus? Whenever you're ready?"

Dumbledore nodded his head once and then the three men arrived at St. Mungo's. Alastor sat up straight and squared his shoulders, as he knew people would be watching. It was easier done on arrival than after the Healers had poked and prodded him, but still it needed to be done on arrival and egress. He had let his guard down only once, and that damned bitch Rita Skeeter had gotten a piccie of him looking like something a hippogriff had spit up. His ragged countenance had landed on the front page of the Daily Prophet attached to a lurid, multi-page article. Rita had painstakingly detailed how the Auror Department's most eligible bachelor was now a deformed monster plaintively looking for physical affection from any blind whore that would bed him.

He wasn't supposed to know about the article, but he did.

Alastor also wasn't supposed to know that Minerva McGonagall had Hexed Rita Skeeter's platinum blonde hair into a shocking shade of emerald that no Hair Witch was able to correct

But he did.

It seemed the Prewett blood ran true in Molly Weasley as her brothers would have been quite proud of her vengeance as Rita had been rumored to be unable to sit for a full week. Truly, Molly Prewett Weasley was a witch to be reckoned with and Alastor vowed never to get on her bad side. He liked sitting on his bum and he especially enjoyed sitting in his wheel chair. Else he'd have to lie on his belly in bed.

"Morning, Elphias, Caradoc, Benjy," Alastor gruffly greeted his honor guard as Albus insisted on at least four if not more Order members attend their fallen comrade whenever he was on the "Outside". "Thank you for your assistance."

Arthur took the wheelchair handles and began to push him through the corridors. Out of the corner of his good eye, Alastor saw a truly frightful sight. It was blonde and it was green and it looked like it had sucked a liter full of lemons.

"Ms. Skeeter, may I inform you that your hair… it is truly colorful," he rasped. Really, his Da would disapprove about how he was rubbing salt into an open wound but the emerald green clashed horribly with her dark black roots and the few strands of platinum that peeked through. Well, at least he was gentlemanly enough not to ask her hexed bum boils as that was far too personal a matter to discuss in public. "My compliments to your hairdresser."

The columnist hissed and ran like the rat she was. On his blind side, Alastor heard a soft chuckle. Albus always took Alastor's blind side as he was the only one Alastor trusted.

"Somewhere, someone is no doubt quite pleased with herself," Albus gently commented. "That hair is a color unlike any found in nature."

Yes, no doubt Minerva was as happy as a cat that had slipped her collar, Albus thought. He should really gift her with some catnip to properly express his appreciation.

* * *

Healer Adham Waldron nervously swallowed once. He didn't need to reread the parchment to remember what it said.

_**CONTINUE AND SHE WILL LIVE.**_

The followers of He Who Must not be Named had captured him and his wife, Imperio'd him and had kept his wife hostage to a series of Hexes he could not even begin to unwrap. In exchange for the breaking of one Alastor Moody, the healer had been assured his wife's Hexes would be lifted. New vials had arrived with his latest instructions, and he had already mixed them, as directed, into today's batch of potions.

He groaned when he heard Alastor and his entourage arrive into the ward. Adham hated the compulsion on his soul and his inability to negate even the smallest bit of torture he was inflicting on Alastor Moody. He was a _**Healer**_. He had trained to mend the injured! Yet, he was powerless against the compulsion.

"Put him on the table," Adham growled. Without noticing his actions, he picked up the latest vials and hid them in his desk.

Healder Waldron then grabbed his wand before he entered the exam room, successful in hiding his unease. His ill treatment of Alastor would be unwitnessed by Alastor's guards as Alastor had them stationed outside during his exam.

_**Damn it, man, TRUST NO ONE! If Albus was in here, you'd be safe. Damn your pride, Alastor!**_

"How's your leg, Alastor?" Adham questioned. With a fluid motion, he gestured and then gently tapped Alastor's stump. The shiny scar tightened slightly, just enough so Alastor's agony would increase. For good measure, he added a slight vibration to the end of Alastor's femur bone so the nerve endings would start protesting. Alastor's leg jumped and the Healer nodded approvingly. "Nerves are coming back."

"Think I preferred it the other way, as it's slightly paining me," the Auror tersely admitted.

_**You should be weeping from the pain, Alastor. **_

"Potions do you no good in the bottle," retorted Adham. "Why aren't you drinking what I made you?"

"Makes me feel fuzzy," protested Waldron's patient.

_**They shouldn't make you fuzzy; you should be in the midst of a full mental breakdown, taking down all of your friends when you go nutters. Alastor, Maeve's life and sanity is depending on how well I shatter you… why won't you break, damn you? You should be hallucinating! You should be visited by your great-great-granny cursing the day you were born. Your dreams should be full of condemnation and ridicule! It should eat away at your psyche until you collapse.  
**_

"Let's get you undressed, so we'll see how you're healing," the Healer smoothly suggested.

"I'm not getting better," rasped Alastor. "Why can't I have crutches? I should be on my foot by now."

"You can't put your weight on the joint," Waldron reminded his patient. "Your right shoulder separated from the joint and there were ligaments and tendons damaged. An injury like that takes time to heal and you can't rush it. Be patient, Alastor. You require time to heal."

_**And apparently, time to make you snap. **_

"Roll over on your side," the Healer ordered. "Let's see how your back is healing. Your discs were a mess last visit and I may have to realign them again."

Fortunately, the ward was thoroughly soundproofed, so the only ones that heard Alastor scream were the two of them. And there was only one that knew Healer Waldron mentally wept as he tortured the Auror Alastor Moody.

* * *

Edgar Bones greeted Minerva warmly upon her arrival and he invited her into his workshop. For good measure, he covered her eyes with his callused hands and made her keep her eyes closed until she was in the room. Edgar was a thin, wiry mage who held a secret fondness for one Minerva McGonagall and he delighted in teasing her. The witch, on the other hand, was completely unaware of Edgar's feelings.

"'tis Herself!" Edgar announced. "Isn't she beautiful? Alastor will enjoy riding her!"

Minerva opened her eyes and stared at the broom. It wasn't a sleek and sexy Nimbus, no, instead it was… ugly. In fact, yes, with the back support, the hand controls and the leg stirrups… it looked precisely like what she was doing her bloody hell best to get Alastor out of.

"It looks like a wheelchair," she finally stated. "He's not going to want to ride _**that**_."

Optimistically, she had hoped that Edgar would be able to modify a Nimbus but still keep its streamlined form.

"Minerva, trust me," Edgar insisted. "This is what Alastor will need if he'll want to fly again. He won't be able to crouch and grab the broomstick shaft because of his dodgy back, so I needed to add hand controls. The standard sitting saddle and leg supports are completely unusable for him because of his leg. He also lacks the quadriceps to adequately grip the shaft."

He held out the broom and gave her a winning smile.

"May I interest you in trying out Alastor's broomstick?" Edgar questioned.

Minerva quirked one disapproving eyebrow and shook her head.

"Min, you always think the worst of me," Edgar protested. "I didn't put that slant on it."

"Because I know you, Edgar." Minerva found herself instinctively defending her shattered housemate. "He's a gentleman. You might want to learn something from him. Might do you some good, Edgar."

"Alastor's a bit of a martinet," Edgar retorted. Then he smiled good-naturedly. "Damn good wand in a fight, though. Now try it! It's a fantastic piece of Charm Work. It's got magical stability balancers, so he won't have to worry about going arse over t…tea kettle when he's mounting his trusty steed. Plus, he'll never fall off it. The only way they'll get him off this broom is if he's dead."

Minerva gingerly took the broom in her hand, while she remembered how nervous she had been all those many years ago. Her father had taught her how to fly but still… that it had been the first time in front of her year mates. The witch was wearing trousers as a skirt had no place on a broom, but deliberately, she changed them to a slightly too long kilt.

"Alastor's wearing a kilt," she told Edgar. "It's easier than maneuvering him in and out of a pair of trousers."

She expected Edgar to make a rude quip, but instead Edgar sagely nodded his head.

"We'll get our Alastor flying again," Edgar assured her. "We need him hale and hearty. But I'd better add a quick Charm to ensure that his kilt stays down. I don't want to know if he wears it regimental or not."

Actually, he wears boxers, Minerva was tempted to quip. He's lengthened them to hide his stump.

Instead, she called the broom to her and instead of snapping to her hand, it rose easily from the ground and hovered at waist height.

"He can stand over it and get on it that way at first," Edgar explained. "It's very responsive and lively."

Gingerly, she straddled the broom while Edgar adjusted the lumbar support and the foot stirrups. As regal as any Muggle queen, Minerva easily ignored the fact that she was displaying a bit too much knee.

"Put your hands on the controls," Edgar started to explain, but it was too late, Minerva and the new broom had hit the skies at a breakneck speed.

After a good test ride of the broom, she returned back to Edgar. The broom was eager, she had to admit. It flew smoothly and yes, it seemed to take an almost human interest in keeping her from being jostled from the wind currents.

"It's… wonderful, Edgar," was all she said at first when she was back on terra firma. Then she attempted to explain herself further. "It's exactly what he needs. It's amazing…"

Edgar smiled at Minerva's praise and then, he asked the question he had wanted to ask since the witch had arrived on his doorstep. His tone was offhand, but his intent was not.

"Will I be seeing you at the Quidditch World Cup this Friday? I remember you had decided to buy a ticket," he casually asked.

For a moment, Minerva's green eyes brightened at the thought of that all too expensive deluxe ticket to the Quidditch Cup, and then her shoulders slumped. "I can't go. I've got Alastor."

"Come on, Minerva, find someone else to Alastor-sit," Edgar prompted. "I was hoping to see you there. I managed to get a ticket also. I was hoping that we might run into each other there."

Actually he had wheedled, charmed and bartered to obtain a ticket in the same section as Minerva.

"I can't leave him," Minerva answered. "Yet, I was so looking forward to it. The Pride is doing better than they have in years."

She then paid for the broom and added a generous tip as well. It was Albus' money after all, and he had reputation for generosity that she helped cultivate whenever possible. The transaction completed, she returned back to her charge. Edgar shook his head in disappointment and then a spark of idea came to him.

"I'll talk to Albus," he decided. "Albus is working her too hard and she needs a break. Quidditch will put a sparkle back in her eyes."

* * *

The room was spinning and a paggered Alastor regretfully agreed to the necessity of getting assistance to get him back into his chair. He was so drained, physically, emotionally and mentally from these healing sessions but Waldron had assured him that he was improving. Take the good with the bad, his Da had always told him. Life was looking a mite bleak, so there must be some good … somewhere.

"For now, you just rest, Alastor," the Healer insisted. "Let's get you covered up. Take a nap."

Alastor nodded his head and quickly closed his eyes while the healer covered him with a blanket. The room was spinning and he was experiencing that strange sensory aura that happened just before he started to hallucinate. Please, let the Healer leave before he started to ramble.

It was with more than a tinge of desperation that Alastor began to silently pray.

"_I plead for your aid to heal my wounds, bless me with your gentle touch, and make me whole once more. Cure of me of what ills me, in my body, mind and soul. I have not forsaken you, I __**still**__ believe. Why have you abandoned me? Tell me how I have failed you, so I may repent."_

When he opened his eye, Alastor was no longer trapped in a ward at St. Mungo's. Instead, Alastor was lying on a carpet of green grass. There was a taste of freshly cut grass, the smell of a sapphire sky, the sound of an oak tree growing and Alastor saw _Her_. Her green eyes were full of compassion and Her long dark hair was unrestrained. She was lying next to him and She traced her fingers over his face, following his meandering scars as they crisscrossed his face.

_**Never**_ had he been so humiliated by his scarring. He wanted to weep from the shame, to see _**HER**_… while his face and body were disfigured by Dark Curses and Hexes.

"_I knew what you would look like before you were born_," She lovingly chastised. "_I know the magnificence of your perpetual spirit, Alastor. Your physical shell is merely ephemeral. I __**see**__ you and __**know**__ you, Alastor Moody. You are one of mine and will always be mine. Your blemishes are because of the wars you fight for me on the physical realm. Do you truly believe that I would demean my chosen knight? Those scars are marks of your service to me, Alastor." _

He didn't know how to properly express his gratitude, so he didn't speak. Instead, overwhelmed by his emotions, Alastor sobbed.

"_My dearest Alastor, you will realize that I have been with you all this time,"_ She assured him after he had stopped blubbering. His Goddess' tone was empathetic yet there was the slightest hint of a reprimand over his lack of faith.

"_I want to believe,_" he pleaded. _"Please, help me with my uncertainty. I just feel abandoned right now."_

In response, She leaned over to kiss him. To his surprise, She buzzed his empty eye socket, soothing the pain away, before she kissed him on his mouth. He closed his eye in order to concentrate into putting all his heartfelt adoration into his kiss. They kissed for some time and his shattered body couldn't help but respond to her radiance. No longer was he overwhelmed by his physical suffering, instead Alastor was adrift in a sea of warm desire, buoyed by his physical communion with his Goddess.

"_Go to sleep,"_ she commanded when they finally stopped snogging. Sleep was the last thing he desired. No, he wanted to savor this experience for as long as it lasted. But one can not argue with their Goddess for long, for she had instructedhim to sleep, and so he did.

When Alastor finally opened his eye, She was gone and he was back in the ward. His leg was aching and his back was aflame in agony but his heartache had been soothed by Her visitation. Albus Dumbledore was standing next to him and he was intently questioning the Healer. Arthur leaned over him and blocked his view of Albus which meant that Albus was misbehaving and he wasn't to know. Well, he was too bloody knackered to care. The auburn haired Order Member gave him a quick smile.

"Think you can sit up so we move you over?" Arthur questioned.

It took four Order members to get him into his chair and the physical ordeal left him exhausted. He barely remembered leaving the ward and when he woke, he found himself in Minerva's spare room. Moody certainly didn't remember returning to Minerva McGonagall's house.

To his shame, Alastor didn't remember attempting to annihilate Minerva either.

Never had been much of a morning person, he was afraid to admit, but perhaps he was taking it to new extremes.

* * *

Alastor Moody had been grey when he arrived home after his last treatment, his ginger hair a stark contrast to his pallor. He also seemed to have physically collapsed into himself but his lips had been upturned as though he was having pleasant dreams. Minerva prayed for his sake that he was.

He roused when Arthur, Albus and Minerva were physically removing him from the chair and that was only to ensure that the placement of his kilt was proper so "Miss McGonagall wouldn't be embarrassed".

_Alastor, I've seen all of you at least four dozen times_, Minerva thought.

"Let's change you into a nightshirt," Albus gently suggested. "Let's get you out of your clothes and into something suitable for bed."

Alastor muttered something and Arthur looked at Minerva.

"Could you leave?" Arthur whispered. "Just us stags for this."

Minerva looked heavenward for patience and Arthur grimaced his apology. She waved her hand in tired acknowledgement of Alastor's foibles.

When she returned with a bowl of "Auld Reekie" Cock-a-Leekie Soup for Alastor, he was already been deeply asleep. And then he had slept for two days straight without the help of her whisky laced soup.

When the third morning dawned, Minerva decided to take her life into her own hands and wake the lion. Truly, there was nothing like wand to wand combat to get Minerva's heart pumping in the morning, though normally she preferred a cuppa first. Alastor's instinctive yet sleepy magical defense, she easily avoided but a few of the McGonagall heirlooms were left scorched and smoking. Unfortunately, his pride took a direct hit when his wand flew from his hands and landed on the floor next to the bed.

"I believe that no matter how hard I try, you will never be a morning person. Up and at 'em, lad, you need to get your foot on the floor and your bloody arse out of bed," she informed him. "Get presentable and I'll meet you on the porch. You're looking scruffy, the beard needs to go."

"I thought you were a tabby," Alastor protested.

"And you're the mouse," she retorted. "That means I'm charge, lad."

"Most cats sleep during the day," he continued. There was a slight quirk to his lips which meant he was amused. Alastor seemed to enjoy their verbal sparring on the few times he unloosened enough to bicker with her.

"Not when there are nice, plump mice, lollygagging around, who have these curly tails that need to be straightened."

"What happens when Tabby finds these lazy mice?" Alastor rasped. The faint smile was gone from his face and his quiet voice was intense. "Is it one swift merciful strike from her skilled paw? Does she play with them, taunt them before the end? Does she make them wish for it? Do they plead for death?"

He was referencing what happened to him, a startled Minerva realized. She needed to be careful in her response as Alastor had never before spoken about his captivity.

"Tabby gives them to me. I fatten the thinner ones up with some cheese before I liberate the little mice into the fields, none the worst for the experience. Also, I strengthen my Rodent Repel spell around the house so those foolish little mice don't decide to come back and visit," Minerva calmly stated. "If we are talking about wizards, I haven't caught one in here. Least, not one that you need to hear about. But Tabby and I are not about to toss any good ones out. Now get up, so I can release you into the fields today, Mouse."

"Will you be letting me back in after our little field trip?" was Alastor's hesitant response.

"You're not a mouse, Alastor. You're a lion, best you remember that," she snapped. Alastor loathed pity and sympathy. He preferred a good kick in the arse rather than platitudes.

"I don't have a place to go," slowly admitted Alastor. "Will you let this wounded lion come back? Or are you releasing me to the wilds? I couldn't blame you if you had enough. I'm ruining your antiques. This is not a restorative vacation for you, Minerva. I understand if you're washing your hands of me. But I have… no…. place to go."

In a much softer tone, she spoke. "You misunderstand the focus of our little field trip. This is merely a chance for you to get some fresh air. You need to get out of that bloody bed, wizard. I'm not kicking you out of my house and leaving you to fend on your own."

He nodded his head in tired agreement.

"Make sure you clean that up, lad," Minerva requested. She pointed at the melted remains of what once was possibly… a pair of silver candlesticks. The metal had pooled and run down the fireplace mantle.

Alastor's face matched his hair when he realized what he had done.

"I'll fix them," he vowed.

"You do that," Minerva retorted. She struggled to flavor her tone with a smidgeon of compassion but she knew that she failed. Instead, she longingly thought of her ticket to the Quidditch World Cup.

* * *

It took time for him to get presentable. The fixing of Minerva's silver candlesticks took significantly longer as the casted silver refused to return to its original form. Alastor let loose a blistering curse as he remembered Filius Flitwick's discussion on magical metallurgy. His Da wouldn't have approved of his language but damn it. The metal had forgotten what its form was when he had melted it, so the resulting candlesticks were deformed and twisted.

_Just like you are_, Alastor, he reminded himself. _I can't give her a fistful of silver and tell to stick a candle in it. Maybe if I can convince the metal to take another form, it might be amendable._

The metal was twisted and wouldn't take on a straight form. Yet, the shape looked familiar and he pondered for a bit. Yes, his mum had a pendant that was similarly shaped. Perhaps, he could cajole the silver into this new shape. The magical effort left him exhausted and he took a brief cat nap. Fortunately, he wasn't so deeply asleep that he reacted instinctively when Minerva arrived in his rooms.

"Alastor! Time is a wasting!" was her greeting.

Blearily, he rubbed his eyes and he pointed at the candlesticks.

"I _**fixed**_ them," was his rasping response. His confidence in his decision fled when he realized that Minerva was just staring at the rather oddly shaped candlesticks. "Couldn't get them back into their proper shape… but…at least, you can use them now."

In response, Minerva picked up one candlestick and examined it. She was quiet and Alastor felt deeply concerned by her reaction. The witch wasn't saying anything at all so Alastor decided a strategic retreat would be best. He closed his eyes and pretended that he was dozing.

_I should have asked Albus to handle this. Yet Da always said that one needs to use one's own hands to rectify a mistake. _

"Seahorses?" was her disbelieving response.

"Cat candlesticks are just so highly overrated, plus I see that you have several sets," he informed her.

"Seahorses," she softly repeated.

"I'll ask Albus to fix them," offered Alastor. "I couldn't Transfigure them back to their original state. The Silver had forgotten what its form was."

"Seahorses," Minerva again stated. She seemed to be lost in a state of disbelief about the ruddy, bloody candlesticks. Carefully, she gathered the two candlesticks together.

"You're keeping them?" Truly, he couldn't help asking.

Minerva placed a quick kiss on his scarred cheek.

"Yes. Now, get to the porch, lad," Minerva crisply informed him.

The witch bustled off with the candlesticks leaving Alastor Moody wondering if she really liked them or if she was just being kind.

* * *

Who would have believed that beneath Alastor's war weary exterior, there lurked such a tender, eloquent soul? For years, Moody had been too easily underestimated as merely a martinet Auror by the rowdier Order members. Yet those candlesticks, they were _**beautiful**_. Diana had loved Alastor; she must have known the real Alastor and believed herself blessed.

Minerva roughly wiped her eyes as she looked at her new candlesticks. Two seahorses, their little tails intertwined. Seahorses? Why did he pick seahorses? She'd expect a cat, even a Gryffindor lion or a phoenix… but seahorses? What was the symbolism? Was there any? Or was she just adding meaning to something when there was none? They were shy little creatures, intent on hiding in the seaweed. What was he trying to tell her that she was too obtuse to see?

_I'm still here. Don't give up on me, please. They wounded me so bad, but you… you might be able to draw me out. _

It was a rather subdued Alastor that met her on the porch.

"Would you mind wheeling to the trail? But close to the gate? You'll also need to put your chair into the standing position," she instructed. "Can you stand for a few minutes?"

"What madness is this?" Alastor questioned her.

"I thought today would be a lovely day to go fishing. I was planning on have breakfast here, but since you slept most of the day away, we'll have brunch by the lake," Minerva explained.

"How do you expect me to get out there?" Alastor questioned.

"By hook or by crook, you will be there," Minerva assured him. "Or in your case, by broom."

His only response was a bark of bitter laughter. It hurt Minerva to listen to it and therefore she interrupted him.

"Yes, by broom, and you will fly yourself over there and back," she continued. For good measure, she poked him in his chest.

"I'm flying myself over there?" Alastor repeated.

"Well, you're a big boy, and you know how to fly. I don't see any reason why I would be required deliver you over there like you're a package," the witch reminded him. "And when we're done fishing, I will light a bonfire for you. Not just any bonfire, but one with mugwort, plaintain, watercress and cock-spur grass. You will have your mayweed, stinging nettle, apple and thyme, Alastor. And you will have your crown of flowers."

She Unveiled the flowers she had hidden and deliberately, she placed it on his head. The sight of scarred visage and his crown of flowers tore at Minerva's heart. This wasn't meant to mock him, but to help him heal.

"I'm afraid that I about to ruin the affect but I must put this cream on your face. Don't want your fair skin getting burned," she informed him. Briskly, she put the lotion on her hands and then she carefully smoothed it on his ravaged face. "They promised me that it wouldn't sting."

"You've got gentle hands," he whispered. "But I'm afraid we're closer to Lughnassadh than we are to Litha."

"I know, but you weren't able to celebrate it properly, so hopefully, she'll understand," Minerva assured him. "But first, can you stand for me? By the railing? Please?"

He grumbled, he growled and he made disparaging comments about witches' sanity being adversely affected by the moon but he did so. Moody was supporting himself by leaning on the gate and he was holding tightly unto the post. His fear over his imminent collapse was palpable and Minerva wondered if maybe she just should have given him the broom.

"Close your eyes," she requested.

"Eye," he retorted.

"Eyes," Minerva repeated. "Your physical eyes and your third eye, Moody. I need to move your chair for just a minute. I will not let you fall."

"Make it quick," Moody snapped. "Can't stay like this for long."

"Don't move," she reminded him. She replaced his wheelchair with his new broom. The broom was a little too eager as it jumped rather than hovered into position. Fortunately, Minerva was prepared and kept Alastor's manhood unharmed.

"Miss McGonagall," he protested. "If you have this strange desire to wizard handle me, you didn't need to take my wheelchair away. I can't really escape your carnal attention when I'm in it, so you could have kept me there."

"The seat is going to feel a little different, Alastor, but remember, you won't fall. Just carefully, sit down," she requested. "Let me guide you. Put your arms around me so we can pivot you."

It was awkward but she managed to get him into the seat and keep his hands off the hand controls.

"Open," she ordered.

It was almost comical, the confused expression on his face as he looked at her, then at the shaft of the broomstick that was between his legs and then at his one foot that was on the ground.

"Edgar modified a Nimbus for you," she explained. "Make yourself comfortable. The broom is getting used to you and it's hovering. Your footrests are on the front of the broom, and your hand controls are on your side. He's added a support for your right leg so you don't have to worry about it."

"A broom?" he questioned.

"A broom."

It took a few minutes to get his left leg into position. The footrests needed to be adjusted for his longer legs and the backrest positioned just so.

"Try it," Minerva suggested. "Not too far."

"Lake's down that path?" Alastor questioned. When she refused to confirm, he nodded his head once. Typical male, Moody lost his good senses that God had given him when he got on a broom. No, instead a sedate flight around the house, he revved the broom and flew toward the lake at a not very prudent speed.

Minerva was quite proud of her lion but yet she was furious by his stupidity. What if he fell off his broom? What if he got injured? And yet, what if nothing happened and she embarrassed him by clucking over him like a mother hen?

"Let him go," Minerva said out loud. "Give him fifteen minutes to find his wings and then go kill him."

* * *

Minerva actually gave him all of ten minutes before she gave chase and she found him flying over the lake. His left foot was barefoot and he was skimming the lake with it while he flew over it, recklessly low. She wanted to rip him up and down for his recklessness, severely chastise him the sheer stupidity of trick flying with a brand new broom, but she simply couldn't.

Because Alastor was happy. For the first time in far too long, he seemed truly happy.

Therefore, Minerva kept her mouth shut.


	3. Chapter 3

Minerva McGonagall swallowed her concern. She wouldn't sound like a harpy, so instead; she set up their picnic brunch, making sure everything that was supposed to be hot remained so. It didn't mean that she didn't keep one eye tight on the flying Alastor. If he fell, if he did something risky, if he experienced an attack of some sort, Minerva McGonagall was quite prepared to save him from himself. She spread out a large blanket and then put the basket with brunch on it. Deliberately, she propped herself up on a suitable oak tree and then she partially closed her eyes.

Alastor gently flew to where she was reclining and he and his broom hovered for a bit. Minerva kept up her pretense at sleeping. He was watching her, Minerva could feel his gaze, yet he remained silent. After a proper wait, she opened her eyes.

"I didn't wish to disturb you if you were sleeping," he explained. "I know it's quite draining taking care of me."

"Just resting my eyes," was her easy answer. "Is there an issue?"

"How…do I get off?" was his question.

Only through her decades of teaching did Minerva refrain from suggesting to Alastor that one needed to take off one's kit before applying attention to that particular problem. But her burst of naughtiness disappeared when she realized anew the extent of his physical difficulties. How was he supposed to disembark from his broom? Fortunately, a plan came to mind even as she stood up and removed two hairpins.

"Please hover so that your foot is standing flat on the ground," Minerva suggested. With a quick improvisation, she Transfigured the hairpins into a set of rather dapper forearm crutches. They were black and they had a little red bat symbol on the cuff.

"Barny the Fruitbat?" Alastor questioned. An amused Moody twisted his lips into a nightmare inducing smile, suitable for scaring a classroom of seventh years into behaving.

"You said you were a Ballycastle man," Minerva reminded him.

"Did I mention that to you?" was his puzzled response.

"No, you had mentioned you were a flag waving Ballycastle Bat man when Sirius Black was nattering about the Montrose Magpies." Minerva offered that and Alastor seemed surprised that she had remembered something that inane.

It had been a few weeks after Diana had been murdered, and Sirius had taken it upon himself to cheer a rather morose Alastor with tickets to a Magpies match. Alastor had gone because the Ballycastles were playing, she remembered. Sirius had done well, as Alastor's dark mood had been immensely improved by the game as the Ballycastles had utterly annihilated the Magpies. Sirius had pouted for a week.

"Try these," she suggested.

"Healer Waldron said I'm not ready for crutches," he protested.

"Alastor, walk on the Dark Side for once," she cajoled. "The Healers don't truly believe that you will follow every single one of their commandments. Try the crutches; it's almost like the rails I put in your suite. It'll help rebuild your upper arm strength plus make you more mobile."

"The Dark Side?" Alastor quipped. "And what can the Dark Side offer that might possibly tempt a by the books man like me?"

"We serve bikkies," Minerva primly retorted.

That retort earned a bark of appreciative laughter. The crutches took time, as she lengthened and strengthened the crutches then made the cuffs more comfortable for Alastor's muscular arms. The feet of the crutches required to be widened into a supportive base so Alastor could rest his full weight on them when he lifted his one good leg off the ground.

"Where's the biscuits?" questioned Alastor. "If I'm selling my soul, it's for either Empire biscuits or Chocolate butterscotch biscuits. Throw in a cuppa as I'm not selling my soul too cheap."

"Alastor, the biscuits will have to wait for a bit. Can you position yourself over the blanket? If we get you to knee height, you can probably kneel and debroom. Then you can sit."

"What about the crutches?"

"Well, I thought you could use them when we're fishing," Minerva said. "Needed to figure them out while you were standing. First brunch then we can try fishing."

* * *

Debrooming had been awkward and he had instinctively grabbed her forearms for support when he feared that he was going arse over tit. Alastor finally got settled in some freaky legless chair that besides consisting of a seat, thankfully possessed a back support. Then to his shame, he realized that he was displaying a great deal of leg. Not his good leg, nor his middle sized leg, but his short leg. Both the kilt and his boxers hadn't stayed in position, and there it was, in all its naked yet hairy glory. Pink, shiny, mottled and scarred and most noticeably missing a knee and other bits.

"Let's put a little padding under your leg. We don't want it resting directly on the ground," Minerva decided. Without a change in her expression, she slid a thin piece of comfortable matting under his short leg. Then she carefully readjusted his kilt and boxers so his leg was covered. As always, Minerva did it with equanimity as though it was something she did every day. Goddess knew that Alastor loved the witch for her unflinching, utterly undauntable nature. "Do you like the Zaisu?"

"Zaisu?" Alastor repeated.

"These legless chairs. I saw them when I was at the Japanese Mage Academy. I studied Transfiguration there for a few years," she explained.

"You were in Japan? You've always had this burning desire to teach?" Alastor asked. He seemed generally interested.

"No," she admitted. "I was actually an Auror for a brief spell."

Alastor grimaced, which she took to mean he was gobsmacked by that tidbit. It wasn't a secret, yet she was never one to shout her credentials from the highest mountaintop. She'd still be an Auror if it wasn't for her damnable glass back.

"Did you know my father?" questioned Alastor. Not 'Why did you give it up?' or other prying questions. "He was in the Department when you were."

"Not really," Minerva confessed. "I was only a junior Auror and he was on special assignment."

In other less flattering terms, Desk Duty. Even after being reduced to a clerical position, Senior Auror Terence Moody had been a wee bit too intimidating to Junior Auror McGonagall and therefore she had avoided him. Naturally, she would admit that to no one as she had her reputation for fearlessness to maintain.

"Must have been right after my Mum died," Alastor said. "Da went on Desk Duty until I went to Hogwarts and then Da went right back into the field. He wanted to give me a stable home life and being desk bound gave him a set schedule."

"I've got bit of a glass back," Minerva softly explained. "Spell damage to my spinal cord. It happened during a raid on a Dark Magic cache. Can't really risk another direct cast, so I decided to retire. Spoke with Albus and when there was a position that opened up at Hogwarts that had very low risk of me re-injuring my back, he suggested it."

There was an ugly look on Alastor's face. He was well and truly pissed over that revelation and Minerva mentally groaned. Alastor was about to have an eppy and while it was sweet that the grim man was being overprotective; he was worried about HER, not himself. Did Alastor believe that she wasn't a witch capable of making her own decisions?

"You've been lifting me!" protested an angry Alastor. "You've got a gammy back and you've been lifting me! I never would forgive myself if you hurt yourself because of me."

"Alastor, I'm very careful when I am with you," Minerva assured him. "I bend with my knees, I use back support charms, I take my potions and…you're helping me, so it's not like I'm just picking you up and throwing you over my shoulder."

"Not acceptable!" He growled.

"There's not much in the way of acceptable alternatives," she reminded him.

Perhaps she was too blunt as a bleak Alastor stared at her for a bit. Finally, he nodded his head in defeat and muttered, "Doesn't mean I won't worry. And speaking of acceptable, I find your lack of proper headgear for Litha rather inappropriate. The old traditions must be maintained, lass."

Wordlessly, he removed one of her hairpins with magic. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders and Alastor nodded his head.

"Better, but it needs something," he growled. He concentrated on the hairpin and it Transfigured in a garland of assorted bright flowers. "Come here."

Minerva bowed her head and he placed it on her head. Her nose crinkled as she smelled a familiar herb liberally mixed among the roses, morning glories, gladiolas and other flowers.

"Nepeta cataria? You really believe that I wouldn't recognize catnip?" Minerva questioned.

"Nay, I knew that you would as you're a smart tabby," Alastor protested.

"The nepeta genus has no affect on me when I'm me," Minerva informed him. "I won't act the cabbage."

"I'm not planning on taking advantage of you, madam," was his soft defense. "Mint… cat mint… cat nip…"

Mint was one of the herbs associated with midsummer, Minerva remembered a bit too late. She apologized, reminding Alastor that she wasn't familiar with his traditions.

"No worries," he told her. "I'd like an hour or two alone, after dusk, for some rituals that I'll like to perform. My faith has weakened due to recent events, and I think a spiritual rededication is necessary."

"Of course! Albus located your cauldron and some of what you'll need. Your altar cloths, candles, boline, chalice and your athamé. I located some grape vine if you wish to make a solar wheel. I also have this for you," she said. With a nervousness she hoped that Alastor didn't notice, she handed him a small box. "Blessed Litha, Alastor."

"Minerva…" was Moody's soft protest. "I'm already overwhelmed by your selflessness, a gift is not necessary."

"It's something small," was her disclaimer. Actually, it was a pretty intricate piece of Charmwork that had required quite a few hours to perfect, but Minerva would deny it. "Bad luck to refuse."

Alastor's lips quirked into an amused grimace.

"Well, I can't afford any more bad luck," was his rough way of accepting her generosity. He fumbled for a bit but he managed to open the box. He took out the runes engraved jade pendant and examined it closely. "Tabby…I can tell you Charmed this yourself. It's lovely."

He was silent for a bit and Minerva decided that Moody needed a few minutes to compose himself.

"Those are powerful Runes, Minerva," was what he finally managed to say.

"For protection, healing and peace," was Minerva's ready response. "Now, it will do no good in the box. Let's see how it looks on you."

He put it on, and she was delighted when Alastor placed the pendant under his shirt so it rested on his skin. The protection would be stronger with the direct contact with his skin. Then he placed his hand on top of it and closed his eyes.

"Feel stronger already. Thank you. Thank you…" he whispered.

Now, here came the most difficult part of Alastor's Litha Celebration.

Minerva had done quite a bit of research, yet all the tomes had completely overlooked how to properly propose it to Alastor. There were no female Order members that shared Alastor's faith so Minerva couldn't ask them to handle the delicate transaction. Most of the Orders hens were Christians, be it Anglicans or Catholics, with a sprinkling of Agnostics, Atheists and quite a few Devotees of the Order of Perpetual Sexual Indulgence. Therefore, Minerva had looked deep within herself and deeply pondered the ramifications of what she was about to offer.

Did she like Alastor? As a friend?

Yes, she had developed a greater appreciation for the wounded lion in the past few weeks.

Would she do anything to lift him out of his depression?

_**Yes**_. It was rubbish to ask that question.

Would her willingness to do anything for Alastor include shucking off her skivvies and sharing his bed?

That question had kept her awake for several nights as she debated the morality of what might occur. Minerva didn't love Alastor, not in a romantic way, but she was a firm believer that sex could be enjoyed for consolation and reassurance. But was it appropriate for her, a non believer, to offer to take part in a ritual involving sex?

Most assuredly not, but when faced with a dearth of suitable partners for the sacrament, Minerva decided that she would put forward the idea and let Alastor make the decision. McGonagall had suggested that his Goddess would forgive him celebrating MidSummer a tad late. Might She not overlook the sacrilege of a non believer participating in the Hieros Gamos and accept it in the spirit in which it was intended? As Minerva's willing attempt to help her dear friend through his current emotional crisis?

"Alastor, forgive me my forwardness, but do you desire to celebrate the Great Rite tonight?" Minerva questioned.

Alastor looked at her, blushed crimson, and then looked away.

Well, it was better than _Bugger off, you old cow!_

"I have wine and the silk veil," Minerva slowly began, carefully feeling her way in this emotional minefield. "I'm not of your beliefs, Alastor, but I am willing… if you wish…"

"You're not of the old ways, Minerva," was his soft response. "I don't know if it would be proper."

He still wasn't looking at her.

"Forgive me, Alastor. I have deeply embarrassed you and it wasn't my intent," Minerva apologized. Well, she had just propositioned him, rather badly, and in the name of his religion no less. It wasn't how she meant it to come across, and yet it had.

"No, you didn't humiliate me, you just startled me. It's a sweet, generous offer, Tabby. I will always cherish your munificent offer, but…" Moody paused. "You're not of the faith, Min. I'm not a High Priest and…. It wouldn't be a casual fling for me as the Goddess would be made manifest in you. To top it off, I'm not even sure if I can… They… hurt me… there… Since it happened…"

Alastor Moody, the Order's Sir Galahad personified and made flesh, gave her a shockingly obscene gesture about how he hadn't been able to bang out one since his captivity.

"Oh, Alastor," Minerva said. She tried to keep her voice compassionate and free of pity.

"Not so bad, Min as I don't really know what I'm missing." There was a forced jocularity in Moody's voice. "Diana and I had been waiting as she desired our wedding to be a complete commitment to each other. So, I can't possibly miss what I really don't know."

"Have you talked to the Healers? It might be not happening because you're still physically healing," Minerva offered.

"No, haven't really mentioned it to Healer Adham. I'm … not easy… with him. Certainly not enough to confide how my assorted personal bits aren't working at peak efficiency," explained Alastor. "Especially when there is a long list of bits missing or not working at all."

Finally, Alastor was able to look at her once more and he softly asked, "Did I banjax us, lass?"

His dejected tone shattered her heart.

"No!" Minerva loudly protested. "We're still what we were and what we will always be. Friends and comrades in arms. "

Alastor's broad shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank Ériu. Your friendship means a great deal to me, Minerva. You can see the man I was once was…"

"Still are…" Inserted Minerva. "I don't think you've become a hen in the last few weeks. You're wearing a kilt, not a skirt."

"And not the monster I've become. And I will always deeply treasure your generous proposal. I'll keep it close to my heart, like your pendant."

"You're not a monster," Minerva growled. "Have some mead."

* * *

They drank a great deal of mead on that delightful afternoon. Perhaps more than a bit too much mead was enjoyed, as Alastor was unsuccessful in catching any fish. He did snare a tabby cat enjoying the chance to sun herself as one attempt at casting caught Minerva's sleeve. He was sitting on a large boulder next to her and had caught her when he had brought the reel back to cast.

"Ruddy arm," he growled as he reeled in his catch. "This line is too light for catching tabbies."

"Are you making a comment about my weight?" Minerva snarked.

"No, no, _**no**_. Just remarking that the line is suitable for a couple kilos, not a full grown cat fish," Alastor quickly assured her. While he was slightly, pleasantly jaked, he wasn't drunk or stupid enough to insult Minerva McGonagall. "I was aiming for the lake, not the tabby sunning on the rock."

"It's your right shoulder. It's tight," she explained. "Your motion isn't fluid when you cast, you seem to have a bit of a jerk, as though something is catching."

"Hold still so I don't rip your sleeve," Alastor ordered. He fumbled with the hook for a bit, and ripped her sleeve with his graceless fingers. It was only a slight tear, but Alastor was mortified.

"I know you didn't mean to tear it," Minerva assured him.

He traced the torn fabric with his fingers and it closed. The sleeve was as good as new and no sign of the rip remained.

"Better," he whispered. "But I shouldn't use magic for everything."

"Let me look at your neck first," crisply ordered Minerva. "If I can loosen the muscle somewhat you should have better luck at actually get the hook into the lake. Let's get you to the ground and into one of the Zaisus."

It was graceless, floundering to the ground and into the Zaisu. Minerva didn't so much as quirk a smile at how he was as ungainly as newborn colt. No, instead, she kept her composure. "Close your eyes and relax. Let me know if it feels good or if I'm putting too much pressure on your muscles."

"Ok," Alastor agreed. "You'll pull your claws, won't you? It would be difficult to explain to Healer Waldron about the claw marks."

Minerva laughed and he could smell her amusement, hear the sun, taste the leaves blowing in the breeze. Carefully, she removed his garland of flowers and his eye patch. Then she began to massage his shoulders and he was overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations; the light taste of Minerva's perfume. She sounded like wild flowers, of meadows and the highlands, felt like safety.

Bloody, ruddy hell, he was about to have a full blown hallucination. In front of Minerva McGonagall no less.

"Are you alright, Alastor?" Minerva questioned. "You're trembling."

He opened his eyes, and his Goddess smiled at him. _Don't worry, Alastor. My hands will take away your pain. Go to sleep._

Funny, he had never before realized how much Minerva McGonagall looked like his mental vision of Ériu.

* * *

The man's muscles were as hard as the stone walls of Hogwarts, Minerva discovered. Struggling to be gentle, she found that she needed to be more than assertive in massaging his muscles as his muscles refused to relax. Alastor said not a word, even when she asked if she was hurting him.

Because he was asleep.

"Well, I guess I get to have my wicked, wicked way with you, Moody," Minerva whispered.

She managed to magic the sleeping Moody out of the chair and placed him in a prone position on a nice, full mattress. With gentle and loving hands, she began to massage Moody's back, concentrating on long strokes. His dodgy back greatly troubled him and perhaps if she could relax the muscles, he would experience some pain relief. Massaging Alastor until her hands ached; she finally had to stop when her hands began to cramp

To her surprise, she felt Alastor's hand on her wrist. Gently, he pulled her down next to him, and he wrapped one arm around her. They lay together like spoons and Alastor nestled still closer to her.

_I don't know what exactly what you want, Alastor. If you were any other man, well, except for Albus, I'd know that this is a prelude to just one thing. You're awake; your arm is draped over me, yet not possessively, so you're giving me the option to wiggle out. _

His fingers entwined with hers and he rubbed his thumb against hers. Then… nothing.

_This is your first time, Alastor, so you're probably quite shy about initiating. I could take you by the hand, but you've got a lion's heart and a lion's pride. I've already mortified you by propositioning you; I don't wish to do it again. _

_While our coming together today won't be the God and Goddess, it will be man and woman. Perhaps it will give you the comfort you seek. _

The witch waited for Alastor to make the first move, and when none was forthcoming, she decided she needed to be daring. There was one sure way to inform Alastor that she was interested. Wiggling closer to him, she then took his hand and slid it underneath her shirt. Alastor quickly inhaled when he realized where his hand was.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered in her ear.

_You're a natural, Alastor. Did I need to tell you how to cup my breast with your hand? I'd tell you but you're distracting me by playing with my nipple. _

"Kissing is always a wonderful way to start," Minerva gently encouraged. "I'm older, Alastor, so you need to take your time with me, so I'm ready. That means you can experiment and explore. There are different positions that would be pleasurable for both of us regardless of our physical limitations."

That was a gentle reminder to Alastor's pride that he wasn't the only less than perfect physical specimen.

"What if I….?" was his next bashful question.

"There are other ways of ensuring that we're both completely satisfied."

Enough talking, it was time for Tabby to pounce. She kissed him on his mouth, silencing any further questions.

* * *

"Albus?" Edgar Bones questioned from the Floo. "I'd like to talk to you? May I come in?"

"By all means," was Albus' easy answer.

"I'll leave," offered the newest Hogwarts Staff Member. His appointment to the staff and his admission the Order of the Phoenix was not common knowledge yet. Also, he was tired of Albus forcing Sherbet Lemons on him.

"No, you can stay," Albus said. It was meant as a suggestion, but Severus Snape heard it as a subtle command. He nodded his head and sat back down. "It's time to introduce you to the Order."

Edgar Bones barreled into the room from the Floo and he glared at Albus. He then noticed Severus Snape in the room and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"What's _**he**_ doing here?" Edgar growled.

"He's one of us, Edgar. I trust him completely. Whatever you want to say, if it is of Order business, you can say it in front of him. It's a pleasure to see you, Edgar," Dumbledore stated. He noticed that Edgar seemed upset and he was unsure why.

"Albus, this is about Minerva McGonagall. She desperately needs a break from Moody-sitting."

"She says that she has everything under control," offered Albus. "I spoke to her before Alastor's last Healer appointment."

"Albus, she's exhausted. Have you really looked at her since you dropped Moody like a parcel in her lap? You must be blind if you don't see how done in she is. If you don't give Minerva McGonagall some respite and _**soon**_, I fear that she'll physically collapse, Albus. Alastor Moody is a strapping young man and you know that Minerva has a gammy back. Why don't you have anyone helping her?" Edgar Bones was quite annoyed at Albus' highhandedness.

"Remus Lupin is assisting," Albus assured Edgar.

Dumbledore noticed Severus' slight lip curl at the mention of the werewolf. He couldn't blame Severus as the werewolf had nearly killed him and his solution to that incident had been woefully inadequate. He had needed the legendary Wisdom of Solomon to properly solve that debacle and it hadn't been available for let that weekend.

"One or twice a week, he pops in for a spell. Albus, she's got Quidditch World Cup tickets and she's not going because she has Alastor. Did you know that? You know how much she loves Quidditch and Cup tickets are quite dear."

"No, she didn't tell me that," confessed Albus.

"Do you really think she'd tell you? You told her Moody would be safe with her! Min probably believes that she's shirking her duty to you, the Order and Alastor if she decides to take her Quidditch holiday."

Edgar's sincerity was apparent even to Severus, though he briefly thought that perhaps Edgar was a bit too solicitous of one Minerva McGonagall. The thought was quickly banished from Severus' mind as he viewed Minerva McGonagall as Professor McGonagall still, and the very idea of her having a personal life? Of, Heavens forbid, having sex? Simply not possible as Professor McGonagall was cold, tartan clad harridan who enjoyed nothing more than taking points.

For a wonder, Albus looked uneasy. "Minerva seemed… drawn… when I last spoke to her. She claimed that it was simply because Alastor had a bad night, but… the sparkle in her eye. It wasn't there."

"Come on, Albus, put the sparkle back in her eyes," Edgar wheedled. "A weekend of Quidditch will do wonders for her. But she'll only go if Alastor is with someone she trusts."

"You're right.I have two days to arrange for someone to watch Alastor so Minerva can satisfy her Quidditch itch. How did Alastor like his new broom?"

"I haven't heard," Edgar answered. He then went into some detail about how he had modified a Nimbus for Alastor's needs. The two wizards chatted for a bit and then Edgar decided it was time to leave.

Albus then gave Severus Snape a rather penetrating look. The younger mage got defensive as Albus anticipated, considering his personal feelings toward the older Mage. He didn't trust Albus, not one single iota, but he had thrown his lot in with Dumbledore.

"What?" snapped Severus.

"You doing anything this weekend?" Dumbledore asked in a far too innocent tone.

"I'm not Moody-sitting," protested Severus. "No, no. _**no**_. I got him out of that cell for you. I'm not changing his nappies."

"Well, Severus, we do need to discuss in detail your new assignment as Potions Master here at Hogwarts. I thought you and I could meet on Friday…"

"At Professor McGonagall's house?" Severus growled.

"Severus, you're a Professor at Hogwarts now. You can call Minerva by her first name," Albus cheerily assured him. "But yes, I will be at Minerva's house, Moody-sitting. What a quaint term, Severus, yet so descriptive and apt. We'll be able to discuss the curriculum then."

"Professor Slughorn…" Severus struggled, not realizing that the fight, battle and war had long since been lost.

"Horace," Albus reminded him, with his blue eyes twinkling madly.

"HORACE has given me all his notes," Severus said, deliberately stressing Slughorn's first name. "It should be sufficient for me to interpret the current curriculum."

"Yes, but I was hoping you'd be able to improve it. Horace was a little bit set in his ways toward the end, coasting toward a much desired retirement. You could help bring our potions curriculum into the twentieth century, Severus! We'll discuss it on Friday. Meet me here for breakfast on Friday and then we'll go to Minerva's house."

"What if I'm busy? The Dark Lord might wish me to be murdering, rampaging and destroying instead. I might even be kicking puppy dogs," Severus snarked.

The boy's amount of self-loathing was painful to Albus and yet he knew that there was a great deal of good in Severus Snape. It was a shame that Severus refused to admit to it.

"Really, Severus, I don't believe that Voldemort has sunk to the level of kicking puppies yet. But you will inform Voldemort that you are busy weaseling your way into an old man's good graces by pretending to take the Potions position seriously. That means, you'll be meeting with me on Friday for breakfast."

"Is that all?" Severus said. He was standing, intent on making his leave of Dumbledore.

"Yes, it is. I'll see you in two days, Severus. Unless you need to see me before then," Dumbledore advised him.

Severus stormed out of the room, a swirl of black robes. Fawkes chirped as Severus' dramatic egress had woken him from his nap.

"Yes, he was rather loud. I fear you'll need to get used to it," Dumbledore informed his familiar. "Lots of banging, growling and snapping will be coming from him, but it's just to hide his true nature. Let him have his idiosyncrazies."

_Idiosyncrasies_, Fakwes prompted as he was a rather literal Phoenix.

"I was being punny," Albus admitted. "I thought it quite good!"

Fawkes made a rather rude noise and then nuzzled his mage's face.

"I'll be Moody sitting this weekend so I'll be at Minerva's house. Do you wish to go with me? Or stay here?"

_I'll go with you_, Fawkes informed him.

"We need to get the sparkle back in Minerva's eyes," he said to his familiar. "Oh, Minerva… why didn't you tell me?"

* * *

"Beautiful," Alastor huskily whispered as he touched, stroked and caressed the woman next to him. "So beautiful."

Alastor knew that he was hallucinating; that in truth, his Goddess was not in his arms. But he didn't wish to wake from this dream, where a woman…a _**Goddess**_… could look upon the ruins of Alastor Moody and still find him pleasing in her sight. He had begged, pleaded and wept for Her solace and She had consented.

Yes, it was a dream, as his body reacted like it should… like it hadn't since Bella and Alecto had amused themselves with him.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on such dark thoughts.

* * *

"Adham!"

Adham Waldron tried to hide his unhappiness. He didn't wish to be stopped and he certainly didn't wish to be interrogated by his superiors about a certain Alastor Moody.

Damn it, it was Healer Morgana Lllewellyn.

"I was assigned to assist you tomorrow with Auror Moody," she explained.

"You were?" Adham asked. "I must check my inbox more frequently."

Bloody hell, Healer Morgana was competent! No, she was a bloody marvel, a literal encyclopedia of medical knowledge. She'd take one look at Alastor and realize that there was no damn reason why the Aurors wasn't on crutches by now.

"Yes, a direct request from the Auror Department as they're worried about Alastor. My son's decided it was necessary to get himself into a bit of a bind. I'll be out tomorrow, straightening it all out, but I will be there for Tuesday's appointment. Just let me know when it is."

"It will be ten in the morning," he told her.

"See you then! I'll want to look at his chart, so could you Copy it for me?" Morgana requested. "I hope you're not insulted that I'm consulting. The Aurors get so… protective… and he's one of their best."

"No! Not at all," he lied.

The entirely too jolly Healer left him alone with his dark thoughts. He was running out of time, and he now needed Moody cracked like an egg by Monday. And Healer Waldron was now not completely convinced that his wife was still alive. Yet, what choice did he have?

None.

* * *

A/N #1 I think it's obvious that I'm a) not British b) not pagan so my apologies for any mistakes.

Please no flames! ;)

A/N # 2 – Yeah, MM, this isn't a 3 chapter story. Surprise!


	4. Chapter 4

Moody wasn't saying anything. No, he was just lying still next to her, deliberating staring at the blue skies and _**not**_ at her. His silence worried her. She understood why he had retreated into himself but it didn't mean that she approved.

"You all right?" Minerva gently asked.

A brusque nod of his head. Her wounded lion's pride was a bit battered as he had been unable to … complete their physical communion. His inability… was quite understandable to Minerva. As it had been his first time, Alastor had been nervous and uncertain. Plus, he had been apprehensive about her enjoyment and his performance, combined with his recent physical and emotional traumas. Perhaps there was a heaping tablespoon of guilt, as she _**wasn't**_ Diana.

His inability was nothing of which to be ashamed, nothing which to focus upon, except he _**was**_ and he _**had**_.

The problem with falling off the witch…horse… was that you were twice as skittish on your next attempt. Nervousness just ensured that you were doomed to duplicating your fall. When… riding… witches, self-confidence was needed.

And being male, and a proud, wounded lion to boot, he had struggled with all his might to get back on. It never ceased to amaze Minerva how the male ego was so surprisingly delicate considering its complexity. Alastor hadn't succeeded in his second passionate endeavor. Therefore he was convinced that intimacy simply wasn't physically possible for him. Since Alastor believed with all his heart and soul that he was impotent and incapable of satisfying a witch, he now physically was.

Minerva wasn't quite ready to wash her hands of a big, strapping lad like Alastor. Everything had been going _**splendidly**_; he had repeatedly assured her that she was beautiful and his kisses had curled her toes. Then a meltdown had occurred akin to the great mid-Air Collision of the 1902 World Quidditch Cup Semi-Finals that had left the shell-shocked spectators dressed in charred clothing.

"I'd like you to hold me," she prompted. To bloody hell, it didn't matter to her that she wasn't satisfied in the first act as the second part, cuddling, was often just as nice.

Well, that wasn't quite the truth, but in this delicate situation discretion was the better part of Gryffindor valor.

Again, a silent shake of his head.

"You're quite right, Alastor, I forgot to say the magic word. _**Please**_, hold me," she repeated.

He didn't move, so Minerva decided if she wanted to be comfortable, she needed to be more assertive. She rolled over, and deliberately rested her head on his chest. "Please, put your arms around me, Alastor."

She took his left arm and placed it around her, and then Minerva located his right. Snuggling closer to him, Minerva draped his right arm over her.

"Much better," she purred. "Snuggling is nice."

They lay like that for some time and then Alastor hesitantly spoke.

"I'm…so… sorry… seems my fecking lad is only… ornamental. It's not you…"

"Alastor, please…you don't need to apologize," Minerva protested.

"I must apologize! It's _**so**_ not you. You have no idea… how much… I _**wanted**_….Please… believe me? I'm such a fecking neddy, thinking I could…thinking I'm as good as any able body man."

His voice was rough and Minerva realized that a shattered Alastor was near tears.

"Alastor, you are _**better**_ than any man I know." She said it with conviction. It was the truth.

"Being kind, Minerva…" was his rasping retort.

"Oh… oh… Just hold me," she growled. "It's part and parcel of the afterglow, love. You are _**supposed**_ to be holding me now. Cuddling, snogging and squeezing are key ingredients also. No pinching, as I can't abide pinching. Talking is optional, but embracing is _**required**_."

"I truly wanted you… please believe me," pleaded Alastor. "I couldn't give you… any enjoyment…"

"Alastor, I can assure you that being kissed by you left me no doubts that you desired me. I haven't been snogged like that in years, decades even," Minerva assured him. "Sometimes… it just doesn't happen, Alastor. Let's snuggle for a bit, and perhaps…"

A furious head shake.

"Alastor, I do fancy the kilt off you," the witch insisted. "We can try it again, love."

"Not trying again," he whispered. "I have to face reality, that's what Healer Adham keeps telling me. I've got a face like a bag o' spanners, I've got scars everywhere from my tits to my toes and every other part of me. I can't get it up, so even the bloody Knockturn Alley whores wouldn't be interested in my Galleons."

"Very well, we don't have to try again," she assured Alastor.

She hugged him as tightly as she could and kissed his scarred cheek.

"For the first time, I'm so glad Diana is dead. I couldn't bear her seeing me like this…I'm not even a half-a-man, I'm a bloody freak."

Minerva wasn't supposed to hear that, as Alastor had muttered that to himself.

"Blessed, sweet Ériu. I banjaxed it. She saw me as… who I was…and I had to bullock it up. I wanted it so bad… needed it so desperately that I lost my good senses…I let my base nature control me. Forgive me…my sins…Grant, my Goddess, Thy Protection; And in protection, strength; And in strength, understanding; And in understanding, knowledge…"

And while Alastor softly prayed to his Goddess, begging for solace and understanding, a listening Minerva McGonagall tried not to weep. In time, they both fell asleep.

* * *

"_He's being a wee bit stubborn about some issues," a female voice informed her. The voice was soft and musical, and quite amused. "Plus extremely overanxious. He was completely fixated on your enjoyment. Combine those three issues together and it's a recipe for performance angst."_

_Minerva woke then and realized that there was some woman… no, Lady, as there was no mistaking the powerful Aura radiating from her, keenly watching them. She blushed as she realized that she was wrapped in Alastor's arms and her clothing was mussed. _

"_Stubborn, that's my Alastor," the Lady continued. "Just like his father. Just like his grandfather. Sometimes, I truly believe it's easier to teach rocks how to dance than to get those Moody boys to follow the path I have ordained for them. Always insisting on being noble and stiff-necked. If they only relaxed a little, their lives would be easier. I don't expect perfection from them, but they think they need to be. Nevertheless, I love them, each and every one of my Moody boys, though they're the more challenging of my Knights. Fortunately, the Moody lads are rather musically inclined. Colm and Terence play the mandolin and Alastor plays the fiddle like his mother does. I love to listen to the Moodys play. "_

"_You're…" Minerva blurted and then stopped._

"_You're still dreaming, Minerva. I'm not really here in the forest. I just needed to talk to you about what did and didn't just happen, and well; your Dream Eye was available."_

"_I'm not of your faith," Minerva explained._

"_Really, we're just different faces for the Sacred Fire that burns in each and every piece of creation. Just don't tell your cousin, the Minister, that. The shock would cause his head to pop off."_

_The Lady laughed._

"_Cameron is a bit of a prat," admitted Minerva. "I still don't know why you're talking to me."_

"_Alastor is having a bit of an emotional crisis. I'm sure you've noticed. You offered to perform the Great Rite with him and he turned you down. Technically, it is a bit sacrilegious as you're not of his faith, and he's not a High Priest. Plus, it's normally done at Beltane, however I'm willing to overlook it. In this case, your earnestness in wishing to help my Knight through his current predicament overrules the fact that you follow the Kirk of Scotland. I'm giving you my Blessings, Minerva. I wish you to be my physical avatar with him. I require him to be emotionally whole, Minerva."_

"_Do I just tell him to take his kit off because his Goddess has spoken to me?" Goddess or no Godness, that comment deserved a tart response from a rather exhausted Minerva._

"_No, you take Alastor in hand and do what needs to be done. The Great Rite isn't just about sex, Minerva. It's about creation… love… fully experiencing the blessed union with the Goddess, a physical, mental, spiritual and astral union. It releases a great deal of power… Healing Power, Minerva."_

_The Goddess paused and then continued, "He already sees the Goddess in you and is reacting accordingly. I've promoted that suggestion in his psyche as he needs someone in which to confide. Instinctively, my Knight trusts you and he desperately desires to be one with you. You don't need the wine cup or the cloth, Minerva. You need not worry about the rituals, the chalice and the athame, just let him worship you. By worshipping you as the Goddess Incarnate, the intimacy will help Alastor gain much needed solace."_

_Minerva couldn't help but arch her eyebrow. Oh, She was calling it Solace? Sounded more like sacred prostitution to Minerva._

"_He is heart sick and wounded in his soul. What they did to him? Monstrous. He was touched by Evil, Minerva. My Knight fears that his soul has been contaminated, that his essence has been poisoned. His belief is that the true Alastor is now as scarred and hideous as he deems his physical appearance to be. The reason why he struggled so hard to make love to you? Because he needed to prove to himself that he is still capable. You see him as the Alastor Moody he once was, is and shall ever be…He sees nothing more than a monster with a ruined face and shattered body. The seahorse candlesticks? Would a monster create such beauty?" _

"_No," admitted Minerva._

"_By worshipping the sacred Goddess in you, he'll understand that for both sexes the body is a sacred and holy shrine to be revered and not despised, to be honoured, and not treated with shame."_

_

* * *

_

"_Alastor," Her voice gently chastised him. "Don't deny yourself the healing properties of the Rite."_

"_She's not of the faith," he protested._

"_No, she's isn't. Yet she proposed it. Truly, a most munificent offer," She reminded him. "Worship her as my Incarnate, as you would love one of my Priestess, my beloved Knight. Lose yourself in the act of adoring the Goddess in her. Let My power fill you. Your faith will be restored."_

"_I… don't think I physically can…" disputed Alastor. _

"_Yes, you can."_

_She kissed him, and he was filled with desire. _

"_If she offers again, do not turn her down."_

_

* * *

_

Minerva woke then, and Alastor was still deeply asleep. She could hear him breath, hear his heart beat and she pondered her dream. His arms no longer tightly embraced her so, yes… if she stretched slightly…she could tug up his kilt and slide her hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. But she shouldn't just grab him and have her way with him. This particular seduction should be spiritual, reverent and respectful. He was wand-shy; therefore she needed to take her time.

First of all, he really needed a better mattress… one that was shaped to give him the maximum amount of support and comfort…Then, start with his head… yes… sit by his shoulders and gently massage his temples. Trace the scar on his chin… yes… a lovely, strong chin, perfect for tucking a fiddle underneath it. His mouth… was a scarred slit… but still surprisingly soft. Perhaps he sang also?

Nice ears also, not too large. Nicely shaped ear lobes also. She ran her hands through his ginger hair and then gently massaged his scalp.

His eyes opened and he was watching her. Instead of explaining the situation, Minerva decided to gently trace his nose with her finger. He was missing the tip of it, so she carefully touched the scar, acknowledging Alastor's wounds.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"I just wanted to touch you," she explained.

"_**Why**_?"

"Because you got to do _**all**_ the touching earlier," Minerva explained. "I decided that I can't let you have all the fun."

She traced his cheek with her fingers, being particularly gentle with his latest, half-healed scar.

"Fun? You're having… _**fun**_? You find pawing… manhandling a scarred, half-freak… _**amusing**_? Perhaps, Albus will clothe me in motley. I can practice tumbling."

Alastor was drowning in despair, and Minerva concentrated on healing thoughts as she gently caressed him. Maybe she was being a silly witch, but perhaps, he might feel something in her touch.

"Alastor, I can think of many better ways to put your mouth to use besides wallowing in self-pity," Minerva tartly informed him. She demonstrated one such example by planting kisses over his face.

"Minerva?" Alastor questioned.

"I'm delighted in being able to touch you. You've got lovely, broad shoulders, Alastor. I like shoulders like that. Strong enough to carry the weight of the world on them."

With a deliberate motion, she unbuttoned his shirt and began to explore his shoulders. Moody was still staring at her, plainly perplexed and uncertain how to regain control of the situation. They were quiet for a bit, and Minerva began to carefully explore his right arm. There… on his bicep…a horrid scar. He favored his right arm, and with a pang, Minerva remembered how a fiddler needed to bow with his right arm.

"Can you still fiddle with this?" Minerva asked.

"I don't believe I can," admitted Alastor.

She would not give him sympathy for his loss, as he'd declare it pity. Therefore, she concentrated on long, deliberate strokes down his right arm.

"How does this feel?" she asked.

"Very nice," was his drowsy response. "You must have the touch of Healing Hands as the pain seems to be receding."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was insisting on touching him, in spite of what hadn't happened between them. Bad enough to be emboldened into kissing her because of a _**hallucination**_. Yet the reality of kissing her had been so much better than a daydream… but then he had crashed and burned! Not even Fawkes had ever flamed out as quickly as he had. She hadn't criticized his tentativeness, his awkward caresses and his rasping, heartfelt praise of her physical loveliness. Making love entailed the giving of pleasure to your partner and he had been near frantic over that. Minerva _**gave**_ and _**gave**_ and he always _**took**_ and _**took**_. For once in their relationship, he had wanted to be the provider… not the beneficiary…

To his horror, he had miserably failed. He couldn't get his wand to flick and swish.

Instead of ridiculing him, she had stayed with the broken, impotent man. Wanted to cuddle…still wanted to be close to him… was still comfortable touching him.

It was amazing, Alastor thought. Minerva had the talent of Healing Hands, as her hands gently soothed his aches and relaxed his tense muscles, leaving him feeling as though he was floating. Gone was the soul-wearying pain, his constant companion since he had been 'rescued', instead he felt warm and content.

It was like he was _**finally**_ home.

The witch was even stroking his fingers. Deliberately, Minerva kissed each fingertip and then she placed his hands next to him.

"You're rather pensive, Alastor," the witch gently remarked. Her hand was rubbing circles on his chest. "Share your thoughts with me."

"Just admiring how remarkable you are," was his soft confession.

"I've been warned about you silver tongued Áth na Coite boys," Minerva teased.

"Yes, I'm from Áth na Coite. But I'm not spinning fairydust and moonshine, Minerva. You _**are **_truly remarkable," He protested.

Minerva's smile was her only response as she continued to massage his chest. To his surprise, she then moved to his whole leg.

* * *

Stay clear of the _**obvious**_ erogenous zones for now, Minerva reminded herself. She had carefully avoided his nipples and his inner thigh on his whole leg. That didn't mean that she hadn't lavished extra attention on his neck, earlobes and other obscure erogenous zones. She had also acknowledged his scars, being particularly gentle with them. A skittish Alastor had calmed considerably under her touch, but now… now was where his composure might slip.

His stump.

His eyes… yes… she'd say EYES….while the purists would quibble and say "EYE", were closed.

She lifted up his kilt and his eyes opened as Minerva hadn't done so on his other leg. Alastor said not a word as she rolled up the leg of his boxers. Instead, he swallowed once and nodded his head in agreement.

Carefully, she put her hand on his inner thigh.

"My previous offer hasn't been rescinded."

There, she was being bold as brass, and Alastor flushed. Possibly from embarrassment over what hadn't happened earlier… or perhaps because of the location of her hand. She had slipped her hand through the fly of his boxers and she was gently caressing his rather eager lad. Slow, deliberate strokes with a bit of an unexpected twist was her modus operandi.

She couldn't stop herself, she purred in delight.

"I don't think your lad is merely an ornament. He's just a wee bit shy, and with some loving attention, he'll become quite the extrovert. In fact, I predict that he'll be so confident and boisterous that he'll soon get you into a lot of trouble."

Alastor's face twisted into a brutal smile. "Never, my Da raised me to be a proper gent with the ladies. Do my thinking with the right head, not the wee one."

"Sir Alastor, the perfect knight," Minerva agreed. "Sir Alastor, who is all _**mine**_."

"Sadly, Sir Alastor's lance…" Alastor paused. "Won't be available for jousting today."

"Oh, I must disagree," assured Minerva. "Do you like this? What am I'm doing to you?"

Alastor flushed again and nodded.

"That's wonderful, as I'd hate to be the only one of us enjoying this."

"How could you be possibly enjoying this? I don't understand…" was his soft protest.

She buzzed his lips once more and then Minerva smiled.

"It's a woman thing, Alastor. You still haven't answered my proposition."

Again, she kissed him all over his face, deliberately on the tip of his nose and ensuring that she didn't miss a single scar.

"Minerva?" His voice was uncertain. "About the Great Rite?"

"I'm still willing," Minerva assured him.

"Are you certain? I'd be seeing you as the Goddess incarnate? You wouldn't be drawing down the moon, so you'd still be _**you**_. But I'd see you… as _**Her**_. Worship you as _**Her**_…I'd hate for it to change anything between us."

"It shan't," the witch assured him. "What do I need to do?"

"Nothing," Alastor admitted. "If you were of my faith, it would be different. But you're not."

* * *

Minerva stood in front of Alastor and she smiled down at him, attempting to radiate calm, goddess like serenity. "Ready?"

He nodded his head once. He was kneeling awkwardly on the mattress, one long leg bent and supporting his weight, the other leg hidden by his kilt. Carefully, Moody picked up her right foot, and she placed her hand on his shoulder for balance. Just enough to keep her steady, not enough pressure to put him off balance.

Bending, he gently kissed her ankle.

Yes, the right ankle as that's where the Five-Fold kiss started. Right ankle, left ankle, right knee, left knee, womb, right breast, left breast and then the mouth. His kisses would turn her into a living pentacle, Minerva thought. Technically, it was Alastor playing homage to his Goddess, but normally, there should be another Wiccan playing reverence to him as the God. No, instead poor Alastor was stuck with Minerva who was determined to do the best that she could.

His buzz was rather ticklish, but also rather erotic, Minerva had to admit. His kiss had inspired tingles that ran up to her leg and landed firmly in her middle. And when he whispered in Gaelic? Made her all weak in the knees. Her left ankle was then suitably worshipped and then he moved to her right knee. This time, he spent a little more attention on it.

How long was she supposed to stand here? He was taking his own sweet time, her bonnie Alastor was.

Finally… he kissed her left knee and his hands slowly reached for her waist. He looked at her, plainly uncertain about proceeding.

He had to kiss her womb… Minerva was a tad tempted to unbutton her skirt then and there to help things along, but no… Alastor needed her patience. Hesitantly, he unfastened her skirt and slid it down her legs. It was… surreal… feeling the silk fabric slide down her legs with no effort on her part.

Then, his hands were on her knickers. Instead of removing her knickers, he seemed to be fixated by the silky fabric. That's the only reason Minerva could rationalize the fact that Alastor's hands were still on her hips.

When Alastor had agreed to the Great Rite, he had requested time alone to spiritually prepare himself. No doubt he had spent the time praying and mentally preparing himself. Minerva had more earthly concerns on which to focus, so she had used the respite to Transfigure her sensible trousers into a long, silky skirt and her undergarments into white and lacey patches of silk.

Maybe, it was a tad ridiculous, a woman of her age clad in such a scandalous pair of knickers, but Minerva thought that since it was a religious ceremony of sorts, she should get the colors right. It was also Alastor's first time, so she wanted him to fondly remember her risqué knickers. First times deserved nice knickers, not her witch's britches which sucked in and supported everything just so. She felt his breath against her belly and her courage failed her. Instead of channeling, goddess-like tranquility, Minerva McGonagall was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rockers. Or was she aroused by this veneration of a seduction?

Perhaps, both?

He gained his courage and he carefully tugged them down. Not too far, just far enough for the ritual. Another man might have slipped them off her completely, but not Alastor Moody. He kissed her once. The lightest brushing of his lips over her womb, and then he tenderly readjusted her clothing to clothe her.

Roughly, he then pulled her closer to him, tightly embracing her and he rested his head against her belly. Moody held her like that for some time, and Minerva pondered what she should do next. Uncertain of the ceremony's propriety, she decided that perhaps stroking his shoulders might provide a comfort of sorts. Still, he continued to silently embrace her. On one hand, Minerva could become quite comfortable with being venerated; on the other hand, Alastor's intensity and silence was a bit unnerving.

"Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with love, Alastor," Minerva whispered. The ruddy, bloody insanity of it all! She was quoting _**Proverbs**_ to an inconsolable Wiccan. "Shall I lie down now, Alastor"

With a regret she could feel, Alastor let her go.

"Minerva?" Alastor rasped. "You… sure… about this?"

"I have absolutely no doubts, Alastor. I also promise you that I will have no regrets," Minerva assured him.

* * *

Kissing her womb had nearly caused him to come completely undone. Minerva had agreed to stand in for the Priestess-Goddess function during this particular ceremony and Alastor naively believed that he could handle _**that**_. The desire he felt was Goddess-blessed which meant in his mind, he'd be able to perform. When the Goddess took you by the hand and decided that you would couple with her, it _**WOULD**_ happen, performance anxieties or no performance anxieties. He had kissed the goddess' ankles and knees, worshipping and blessing them and then Alastor had gotten to Minerva's skirt.

Yes.

Minerva's skirt, not the goddess' gown, but _**Minerva's**_ skirt.

Some might natter and quibble about Alastor knowing bloody well that he was kissing Minerva's ankle, but he hadn't been. Not really. He had been worshipping the Goddess' ankle. When he had buzzed the Goddess' knee, he had carefully moved the Goddess' gown away from her knee.

And then he had to unbutton Minerva's skirt and place his kiss on her cusp. There had been silk and lace and… and…he just _**marveled**_ at it.

It had felt so soft against his callused and damaged hands.

That soft tantalizing piece of fabric had bespelled him until he remembered exactly why he was there. A sincere kiss of adoration and then he dressed her. Without truly understanding why he did so, he pulled her close to him and tightly embraced her.

Feeling her warmth against his face, hearing her breath… it felt… _**right**_… Alastor finally decided. Since Diana's death, he had been starving for emotional and physical intimacy. Not _**sex**_, but _**closeness**_. Once he left the safety and security of Minerva' cottage, he'd have to deal with being seen as a crippled monster with a face suitable for scarring young uns into behaving. Not so Minerva, she saw him as the man he once was.

He needed to savor this closeness, this _**gift**_ that Minerva was offering him… for as long as he could. That's why he was holding her so tightly, he finally decided. Because Alastor wanted to imprint the feel of her skin on his, memorize it so he could recall it during the long, lonely nights ahead.

Really, he should stop holding her and continue on with the kiss. Yet, the very thought of uncovering Minerva's breast and kissing the swell of it? Overwhelmed him; threatened to unman him.

_You're in __**love**__ with her, Alastor. Why is it so difficult for you to admit it? _ His goddess whispered in his head.

Oh bloody, bloody hell. He _**was**_. It wasn't the giddy, overwhelming love he had felt for Diana. No, his love for Minerva was a damaged affection, scarred and frightened, deformed and crippled. It had been born from his overwhelming despair just… just… because she was kind to him.

_She deserves better_, he protested. _I mention my feelings to her… it will just create awkwardness. _

It was though she understood that he was in need of solace, as Minerva then began to rub his shoulders with her hand.

"Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning: let us solace ourselves with love, Alastor," Minerva whispered to him. "Shall I lie down now, Alastor?"

Regretfully, Alastor let her go. Yet, his integrity demanded that he warn Minerva about his feelings, that he was placing a different value on what was occurring than she was. His tongue was twisted, just like he was; he couldn't find the words to warn her.

"Minerva?" Alastor rasped. "You… sure… about this?"

"I have absolutely no doubts, Alastor. I also promise you that I will have no regrets," Minerva assured him.

Minerva then easily lay down next to him and she gave him an encouraging smile. When that failed to persuade him, she took his hands… _**took**_ his _**damaged**_ and _**crippled**_ hands and placed them on her shirt.

His hands were shaking as he unbuttoned her shirt. Only two buttons, so her modesty was still protected.

"Alastor, you need to unbutton more than that," Minerva chastised him. She unfastened the rest of her buttons and opened her shirt. "Oh dear, you're staring at me. Am I being too forward?"

She was wearing more silky, lacy whiteness and he yearned for nothing more than to rest his head on her breasts. Savor the experience, burn it to his soul, so he'd remember… what it had been like.

"You're… _**gorgeous**_… Minerva. I just can't help but gawk…" he confessed.

"Come now, kiss me," she reminded him.

He carefully straddled her, keeping his weight off her by using his good knee and his elbows. Whispering his benediction, he positioned a soft, adoring kiss on the swell of her right breast.

The left breast was similarly worshipped and that left the final kiss.

When he placed his lips on hers, Minerva twisted underneath him, jarring his arms and leg. Gracelessly, he collapsed on her and he pulled away.

"It's supposed to be a _**full**_ embrace," Minerva reminded him. "Skin to skin, leg to leg…your arms around me."

"I don't want to crush you," he blurted.

"Roll over then," she ordered. "Wrap your arms around me and then kiss me on the lips. Do it correctly or not at all, Alastor."

He found himself on his back and Minerva on top. She buzzed him on the lips, and he eagerly kissed her back. His hands were exploring her back and he realized that she was pulling away for him. Struggling not to voice his disappointment, he opened his eye to find her taking off her skirt. His kilt was lifted and she straddled him.

And then… _**then**_… unity…he lost any and all ability to think coherently.

Minerva was the Goddess and yet she wasn't but still she conveyed all of the wonder and majesty of his deity. He was the God and yet he was still the shattered shell known as Alastor, yet this physical union was as sacred as act of creating the universe. He couldn't stop… he couldn't … the feeling was overwhelming him and Minerva-Goddess kept bringing him higher and higher until he came.

At that moment, he **_SAW_**… his place in the world, his damaged love for Minerva, the majesty of the universe… all that was… all that had been… and what will be…his Goddess was _**there**_… having witnessed the consecration of his union with Minerva….

To his horror, Alastor began to laugh. It was too much for him to comprehend... to process... he had to let it out...

A huge belly laugh that erupted from his toes. He continued to laugh until his laughter turned to sobs. He rolled on his side and Minerva began to rub his back.

"It's alright, Alastor. It takes some like that. Let it out… "


	5. Chapter 5

Alastor tried not to move too much, just enough to grasp his wand in his hand. He did so carefully, not wishing to disturb a sleeping Minerva McGonagall. She had positioned herself just so, declaring that his chest made a lovely pillow, before she had fallen asleep.

Oh, how he _**fancied**_ Minerva McGonagall.

Minerva was beautiful, compassionate and one hell of a lover. Well, at least _**he**_ firmly believed so what with his rather limited experience. One different position had been mastered after another, as she was resolute and single-minded in giving him one hell of an education. Alastor hadn't even focused past the first time, certainly not even dared hope that there would be more than _**that**_.

Certainly never would have thought that a seemingly inexhaustible Minerva would tire him out, let him slumber for a bit and then pounce on him for _**more**_. Hadn't even been the least bit put off that he always uncontrollably laughed like a loon after he climaxed. How mortifying, giggling like he was a pubescent boy caught red-handed with a Wizard's Weekly centerfold. Just because he was in truth, a lad trapped in a man's body, skin to skin with a naked woman didn't mean he needed to act like such a stupid git!

Yet, he couldn't stop himself.

"You're _**joyful**_, Alastor. You've got a nice laugh, so I'm not annoyed," Minerva had reassured him.

There was a lightness in his spirit that had been sorry lacking since Diana's death. Maybe… _maybe_… could he?

"Expecto patronum…" he whispered while he concentrated on his happiness. He hadn't been able to cast his Patronus since Diana's death. Albus had assured him that the ability would come back to him in time, once he had his emotional equilibrium back but… damn it; he had wanted to know exactly how long?

He was greeted by a familiar shaggy face with a wildly wagging tail. The Irish Wolfhound, while incorporeal, licked his face in welcome. Setanta delightedly slobbered on his face. Some men named their penises; Alastor had named his patronus. Terence had gotten him the original, physical Setanta after Alastor's Mum had gone home to the Goddess.

His patronus… was back… he was _**able**_ to cast the spell.

"Boyo, I've been missing you," whispered Alastor. "Don't wake her."

* * *

"Gentle when stroked, ferocious when provoked," a bemused Minerva thought.

Well, that quote certainly described both the Irish Wolfhound and the young man lying next to her. Perhaps Alastor wasn't quite _**gentle**_ when she stroked him. No, when Minerva caressed and kissed him, Alastor wore an ear to ear grin, as though he couldn't believe how _**lucky**_ he was.

It had been far too long since Minerva had such an appreciative, enthusiastic partner. Vocal, also, as he had a rather endearing habit of chuckling after he climaxed. Laughter was far better than tears or cursing or worse yet, complete silence, so Minerva wholeheartedly approved. His amusement gave her a very good idea on his enjoyment, as his roaring, raucous response after she had thoroughly kissed his wand had caused her to blush.

Minerva firmly believed that laughter and humor helped making mattress bouncing so much more enjoyable.

"Boyo, I've been missing you," whispered Alastor to his Patronus. "Don't wake her."

The incorrigible patronus ignored him; instead he began licking Minerva's face with enthusiasm. His shaggy tail began wagging even more energetically.

"Bad dog! _**Bad**_!" Alastor chastised.

Minerva laughed as it was her turn to be merry. Alastor's patronus then rolled onto his back, displaying his belly so she could scratch it.

"Laugh at my badly behaved patronus?" Alastor growled.

"I'm rather ticklish," explained Minerva.

He gave her a very appraising look that caused her to giggle even harder. "Are you _**really**_?"

Carefully, he rolled her on her back while he brusquely ordered his Patronus to go chase something furry. Alastor turned onto his side before openly admired his view. Really, he was simply marvelous for her ego. Minerva was a little older and the firm body of her youth was a pleasant memory, yet Moody acted as though she was Venus de Milo.

"Comfortable?" was his next earnest question.

Damn it, Moody was concerned about her back. She never should have told him that she had a glass back as he had obsessed over it during their intimacy. He had kept his weight off her as much as possible whenever the position had required it, resting on his elbows and knees.

"Yes," she assured him.

"How's your back?" Alastor softly asked. "Not hurting, are you?"

"Just fine," was her quick response.

"Don't want to hurt you," he answered. He picked up her right hand and brought it towards him. Carefully, he kissed her right forearm. Then, tenderly, he kissed her left forearm. The bruises he had given her had long since been Charmed away, but Alastor was still quite apologetic.

"I am… sorry… about that," a contrite Alastor whispered.

"You grabbed me when you thought you were falling, no harm meant."

"Should have fallen on my face rather than hurt you," was his protest. He kissed her a few times and Minerva sternly warned herself not to start purring. But oh, how his kisses made her toes curl!

"The bonfire's burned down," her lover informed her. "Time to return back to reality, so… I think we should talk. Tonight… Minerva…"

Alastor roguishly grinned.

"Was… amazing," Alastor finally said. "Unbelievably astonishing. But… we'll keep it between us? I swear that I won't say anything to anyone."

Her heart skipped a beat, as Minerva wasn't expecting _**this**_. Hadn't anticipated Alastor would fall madly head over heel in love with her, but his attitude was almost, wham, bam, thank you, ma'am.

_Well, Minerva, you are a lot older than he is, so perhaps he's embarrassed. Grateful, but self-conscious. Don't take it personally; you know that this was only a friendly fling. You weren't planning on shouting it from the rooftops, so just agree. _

"Of course," Minerva promised.

He sighed in relief. "Let's get back to your house, Tabby."

* * *

Thank the Goddess, Alastor thought to himself, Minerva had instinctively understood why he wanted to keep tonight quiet.

He didn't want Sirius, James or Frank getting hold of what happened. Those adolescent bastards would make rude jokes and cast aspersions on Minerva's fine character. Moody couldn't bear the shame if they took the mickey out of Minerva because of him. Instead, Alastor wanted to keep the memories close to his heart so he could treasure them. Treat them with the honor and the reverence that they deserved.

Somehow, she had instinctively understood that they needed to keep this quiet and personal. Keep this… _**wonder**_…just between them was their unspoken agreement, so he hadn't voiced his reservations. If he uttered them, he feared that they'd come true.

It took time to break down their little spot, and Alastor was near completely done in by the time he rolled into bed. Uncertainly, he carefully grasped Minerva's wrist… didn't want to bruise her… and gently pulled her down next to him.

"Stay?" Alastor inelegantly pleaded. "Too knackered to even THINK of anything, but… stay?"

"You've got a doctor's appointment in a few hours," Minerva reminded him. "You need to rest."

"I know, but… _**stay**_…. Don't go, Tabby."

She was still deciding, so he added a heartfelt, "Please?"

To his delight, Minerva relented and crawled into next to him in bed. They lay like spoons and Alastor kissed the top of her head before whispering for her to go to sleep.

He thought he would literally _**burst**_ from happiness. What a god awful mess that would be, yet… it was the only way he could describe how he felt.

_Tabby,_ he mentally thought,_ I pray that you never find out that I've fallen in love with you._

He stayed awake most of the night; delighting in the chance to experience the sweet feel of Minerva spooned next to him until at last he was deeply asleep.

* * *

"Fawkes, would you mind terribly taking this letter to Minerva?" His mage asked.

_Do I look like an OWL? _was the sleepy Fawkes' inelegant reply. He nestled back into his nest and fluffed his tail feathers, not so politely informing Albus to go flock off. Really it was too early in the morning to be even THINKING of using Fawkes as Post. That was what OWLS were for, not Phoenixes. Really, Albus wasn't as intelligent as everyone believed him to be if he didn't know THAT basic truth.

"I wouldn't bother you unless I had no choice. I can't send an owl. We are hiding Alastor Moody at Minerva's cottage. An owl could be intercepted," his mage patiently explained. "Voldemort doesn't have his location. We need to keep it that way."

Fawkes gingerly opened one eye and Albus was radiating sincerity The Phoenix ran through his litany of complaints about his mage and added another one.

'_Foolishly expects people to believe his sincerity'. _

"I have treats," wheedled Albus. "When you're done playing Owl, I'll give you some."

_Rather chintzy with Phoenix Treats_, was added in triplicate to Albus' list of Phoenixy Felons and Mageling Misdemeanors, underlined and then starred. _Considering how many treats he eats, he's rather parsimonious. _

"We'll be visiting Minerva's today. We'll take care of Alastor while she's enjoying some Quidditch. I'll speak to the House Elves about possibly preparing meals for us," Albus said. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

That thought caused Fawkes' plumage to brighten. The House Elves liked Fawkes and always gave him treats whenever Albus wasn't watching.

He held out a claw and Albus gave him the missive. With a pop, Fawkes left the castle. When he finishing _**popping**_, as Albus so inelegantly phrased it, he found himself in Minerva's sitting room. She wasn't there, so he sniffed.

Minerva was quite fond of Fawkes and gave him many a treat; so perhaps, she might realize that an uncaring Albus had sent out his personal ambassador unfed and feathers unfluffed. Perhaps, if she had time, she might even pour him some spring water. Fawkes was rather thirsty as playing Owl was hard work.

Hmm… she wasn't in her nest, but she was in the Big Man's room. Fawkes wasn't quite sure of his name as he had better things to do than name all the various two legs that Albus knew. Yes, Fawkes had decided that Big Man fit him satisfactorily. He was taller than Albus and looked as though he could pick up Albus and hang him in his wardrobe. Not exceedingly muscular but sturdy.

Big Man was recovering from his injuries. Fawkes had wept a few tears in his wounds when they had first found him, as Big Man had been in very bad shape. His tears had closed the open wounds and staunched the blood, but Phoenix tears weren't capable of regrowing body parts. Yes, she was probably nursing the Big Man so Fawkes would just pop into the room, unannounced.

He popped into the room and a horrified Phoenix realized that Minerva and the Big Man were nesting. The Big Man had one wing… arm… protectively sheltering Minerva. Yes, there had been a mating flight and perhaps there would be fuzzy headed chicks soon?

Oh dear, Big Man might go after Fawkes for interrupting the nesting.

Truly, Albus didn't deserve Fawkes, to uncaringly send him to his death with a rutting, angry Big Man. Yet, Albus had commanded the letter be given to Minerva so Fawkes hopped over the Davenport next to the bed. He put the letter down, then very carefully covered his eyes with his wing and before he very softly called for Minerva. Truly featherless two legs had strange ideas about modesty, but he was very hungry.

Perhaps, he'd even die from starvation.

Not that Albus would care. Not until a message needed to be send or the dying healed. Then Albus would cry great, big splotchy tears of purple grief over the slow death by starvation and neglect of his beloved Phoenix, Fawkes the bright and beautiful.

Fawkes liked Minerva, as he firmly believed that she was the rarest of souls, a not-stupid two-leg. Therefore, Fawkes would willingly talk to her. No doubt she was aware of this high honor as the Phoenix didn't just chit chat with anyone. There was only a clawful. Fewer still that Fawkes deigned to learn their names.

_Minerva? I have a message for you from Albus. _

The witch made an inelegant sound as she abruptly woke.

"Fawkes, we're _**clothed**_. You don't have to do that," Minerva commanded.

_Congratulations on your nesting, Minerva. Will there be chicks?_

It was a proper Phoenix observation; therefore Fawkes was startled when Minerva was not happy with his question.

_**GO TO THE KITCHEN, FAWKES.**__**IMMEDIATELY! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE UNTIL I EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU!**_

It appeared that the odds of Fawkes being fed were quite poor. Perhaps, he should learn how to sip nectar from flowers, like his friend Haethowine the Hogwarts hummingbird.

* * *

Quietly, Minerva slipped out of bed. A quick check revealed that Alastor seemed soundly asleep. His shaggy hair hid the worst of his scarring in the dim light of early morning, but he seemed to be smiling.

_You look so young when you're sleeping_, Minerva protectively thought. For a moment, she debated about planting a kiss on his cheek, but then she saw that Alastor's hand was searching for her. He wasn't awake, not yet, but her disappearance from his side had triggered something as he was now frowning. With some nonverbal magic, she created a large Minerva-sized body pillow next to him. His hand found it, pulled it closer to him and he snuggled next to it. Again, his smile returned.

_Go back to sleep, lad. _

_Now what the HELL does Albus want? Fantastic, Fawkes caught us. That means Albus will know and I don't want his twinkling eyes involved in this._

Celtic Warrior Maiden Minerva stormed into the kitchen where she found Fawkes plaintively attempting to open her icebox_. _She usually kept a few Phoenix Treats there for whenever Fawkes had to play messenger boy.

_Fawkes, are you __**hungry**__?_

_Yes…_ the Phoenix plaintively whinged. His feathers even drooped.

_Albus sent you out before the sun rose and he didn't even think to let you have something to eat. How rude._

_I'm thirsty, too…._

_Very well, let me get you something to eat and drink. If I do this, you __**PROMISE**__ not to tell __**ALBUS**__ about what you saw. I can also assure you that there will be __**NO CHICKS.**_

She had cast the anti-chick… conception… spells and then Alastor had insisted that he perform them also.

Twice.

For safety.

_I didn't see you and the Big Man nesting. No, not at all. I came into the kitchen and you had water and food for me! No nesting, just food and water!_

"You call Alastor the Big Man? What do you call Hagrid?" a bemused Minerva questioned.

_Hagrid! Naturally!_

Men made no sense to Minerva, whether or human or feathered, so she decided it best to feed the famished Fawkes and herself, and then read the note from Albus. She was still sipping her cuppa and attempting to decipher Albus' loopy handwriting when a brightly clad Albus showed up at her door.

"Good morning, Minerva. I understand the weather will be perfect for the Quidditch Cup this weekend." Albus commented. "You should have a lovely time. I believe Puddlemere has a better chance this tournament."

"Quidditch?" Minerva repeated. "Who will be watching Alastor?"

"I will," Albus stated. "You need a break, Minerva. You look exhausted. You didn't sleep at all last night."

_Well, no, as I was being thoroughly worshipped and adored last night. _

"Someone woke me before the crack of dawn," Minerva retorted. "The sparrows hadn't even farted yet."

"Tsk, tsk, such language Minerva! Why didn't you tell me that Alastor was too much for you?" Albus protested. "I want you healthy and hale, Minerva. So, get changed and I'm sending you on a much needed holiday. You scrimped for this trip all year, Minerva, and I nearly ruined it for you. I'll make it up to you. I promise. I've made reservations at a wonderful hotel where you will be pampered tonight."

"I just can't leave Alastor with you," protested Minerva.

He put his hands on her shoulder. "You can, and you will. I'll have help."

"Not James, Peter…." She continued her ineffectual dissent, knowing damn well how Albus got.

"And none of the other Apostles either," Albus inserted, his blue eyes merrily a twinkle. "Not Sirius, not Frank. Emmeline is willing to assist. Marlene, Benjy and Caradoc also. Now, go, change."

He motioned at her, and Minerva felt herself walking toward her bedroom.

"_**Don't**_ magic me," Minerva snapped.

"I'm not. Your body is realizing how exhausted you are so it's decided to agree with me," explained Albus. "It's walking on its own. I'll explain the situation to Alastor, and he'll understand. I know it's hard to believe, but Alastor is extremely empathetic. I'm sure he's aware of how much you love the Pride. He'd be upset if you missed the Cup because of him. Go."

Maybe it might be a good idea to leave. She was worn-out, physically, emotionally and mentally and… after last night, probably Alastor would prefer if he had a chance for some solitary thinking. Pampering at a hotel? Perhaps a massage? Her back _**was**_ twinging…

"Inform Alastor that you brow beat me into leaving him," Minerva requested. "I don't want him to think that I abandoned him."

"Yes, I will," Albus promised.

* * *

Albus then made himself comfortable and he saw that Fawkes was having a bit of a treat. The Phoenix was sipping spring water and enjoying a selection of fruits, nuts and various seeds. Really, Albus should watch his waistline; perhaps he should develop a taste for healthier snacks. Sunflower seeds for example, they were supposedly …. _**Good**_… for you. Nasty things, they needed salt to make them edible… yet… healthy did as healthy was.

"Fawkes? You mind sharing? I didn't have breakfast," requested Albus.

Fawkes ignored him, if anything; he began gobbling his treats still faster at an unPhoenixy rate.

"Fawkes," Albus reprimanded. "May I have some, please?"

Fortunately, the barmy pair was preventing from brawling over breakfast by the fortuitous arrival of Edgar Bones. He was Minerva' escort to the World. Quidditch Cup. He was not being completely altruistic, as he was also hoping to put a 'date' slant on their outing, so he had made an effort with his clothes. Not too fancy, yet…. Suitable… he hoped. He had asked his sister Amelia for help as he was a hopeless bachelor and she had enjoyed it a bit too much.

"Min's ready to go?" Edgar eagerly asked.

Not that Edgar didn't trust Alastor Moody, but he worried that perhaps a spark would develop between the two Order Members. He trusted Alastor in a firefight, but with one Minerva McGonagall?

That was completely another matter.

Sooner he got Minerva away from Alastor, the better chance he had.

* * *

Minerva was surprised to see Edgar Bones in her sitting room. He stood up when she arrived, and she had to rub her eyes to confirm that it was in fact, Edgar Bones. The thin, wiry frame was Edgar, but he was looked… _**presentable**_. He had cleaned himself up rather nicely.

"Minerva, isn't it the most amazing coincidence? I bought a ticket in the very same section that you did!" Edgar advised her.

Coincidence, her Scottish arse. This smelled of Albus' involvement, but Albus was pressing Galleons on her, reminding her that he had made arrangements for her to have a wonderful relaxing holiday. Today would be a nice trip to Edinburgh, and then tomorrow it would be the World Quidditch cup.

"Go… go… go…" Albus then made a shooing motion.

"If there are any problems with Alastor," Minerva slowly began. She didn't wish to leave him, but yet… Quidditch…. _QUIDDITCH_…. And Moody had seemed embarrassed over last night; perhaps it would be best, if she gave the young man breathing room.

"I can handle it, Minerva. I promise that he'll be at his appointment in three hours."

Fawkes chirruped his pledge that he'd keep Minerva's personal Peter Pan on the straight and narrow.

"Let us go," Edgar announced. He held out his arm and gave her a winning smile.

"Oh, do stop flirting Edgar," Minerva demanded.

Edgar continued to smile and Minerva decided that perhaps… if Edgar was in the mood to play, she would flirt right back. It would mean nothing at all between two friends and it might help soothe her ego.

* * *

When Alastor finally woke, he was mildly disappointed to see Albus Dumbledore was his nanny. A ticket to the Quidditch World Cup, well, he couldn't begrudge Minerva that experience, but Alastor could have a sulk that she went with Edgar… and hadn't even said goodbye. Well, she _**HAD**_ through Albus, but a _**note**_ would have been nice.

_Don't be jealous, you know that last night was just between friends. You have no hold on her and Edgar and the rest might wonder if she decided to give up Cup tickets to nursemaid your sorry arse._

Despite his abandonment by his Tabby, Moody was in fine mettle. Albus seemed stunned when Alastor insisted on utilizing his new crutches complete with Barny the Fruitbat sigils.

"I'll use the chair after my visit to the Healer, but I think it's time I was walking," Alastor announced. "I think it's long past time for me to be on crutches."

Albus nodded his endorsement and Fawkes trilled a happy song, signifying his approval. His Order bodyguards also approved, as did a roundly pregnant Alice Longbottom who was having an antenatal appointment. She had been Diana's trainee, so he held a soft spot for her, but was it truly necessary for her to hug and weep over him? He was only on crutches, not moribund.

Everyone seemed delighted that Alastor was on crutches; even the support staff at St. Mungo's gave him a round of applause. All seemed delighted at his new mobility except for Healer Waldron. Adham seemed more than a bit perturbed.

"Are you trying to rip your shoulder out of the socket? What are you doing, man?"

* * *

The minute he saw Alastor Moody on crutches, Adham Waldron knew that his wife was _**dead**_.

He loved her, loved her so deeply and he had failed her. There was only one thing left that he hadn't tried with the damningly resilient Alastor Moody.

Take his happiest memory and twist it into something foul.

"Well, perhaps I was just too strict with you, Auror Moody. I just wanted to make sure that your tendons and ligaments were healed, but… since you're using the crutches, go ahead and keep using them. There's no chance at putting the genie back in the bottle," Adham informed his contrary patient. "Get on the bed, Moody. Let's see what we can do for you today."

Once he completed this session with Moody, it would be over. He'd be free of this damn curse and he'd be with his beloved once again.

"Close your eyes, Alastor. We should be able to end these sessions soon since you're doing so well," Adham gently informed his patient. "I'm really sorry that I've had to hurt you, Alastor. I didn't want to, but … I _**had**_ to."

"I understand." Moody barked a dry laugh. "Just doing what needs doing."

"Thank you for understanding," Waldron softly said. "I had hoped if anyone would understand, you would. Now close your eyes."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was becoming suspicious, Waldron knew. Alastor had walked to his treatment, energetic and vivacious. At the end of the session, a haggard Alastor was collapsed in his wheelchair.

"I thought Healer Llewellyn was scheduled today," was Dumbledore's only comment but Adham _**knew**_.

Therefore, he tidied up his office. Cleaned everything and placed everything just so. He needed to do something, to warn Albus what he had done to Alastor Moody, but the Compulsion held him still. It took him fifteen minutes of mental effort, but he put the various vials and phials into his jacket pocket.

Hopefully, Albus Dumbledore would investigate his death. He was a bloody genius… hopefully Adham left enough clues for him.

That done, Adham Waldron left St. Mungo's for the next to last time, and then deliberately Apparated in front of a Muggle Double Decker bus. His end was quick and he died happy, believing that he would meet his wife in the afterlife.

The shaken bus driver kept repeating, "He stepped out of nowhere. I swear I didn't see him!"

He just didn't know how right he was.

* * *

_Alastor was damn tired of the witch. She nagged him, belittled him and was just a bloody bitch. He had it with her, and he'd finally get her to finally show some respect and shut up. He raised his fist to her, enjoying the feel of the impact of his hand against her skin._

_He'd show the bitch who was Boss. _

Alastor Moody woke up screaming.

No, no, _**no**_. He'd never do that to Minerva. Never rip her clothes and bruise her like that. No… no… _**no**_… Never force her on her back and do _**THAT**_ to her…

Why did he remember doing exactly that? Where _**was**_ she? Where the bloody hell was she? Tabby had probably fled from him…from the monster to which she had opened her home.

"MINERVA!" Alastor roared. "I swear I didn't _**mean**_ it. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why. I'm so sorry, I'm _**so**_ sorry."

There was only one morally correct response to the current situation.

He should go directly to Azkaban, but the shame… the shame… He knew how such incidents were viewed. They might blame it on Minerva… and he couldn't… simply couldn't… bear it.

It was long past time to end it.


	6. Chapter 6

When we left Alastor Moody, he was suffering from one final curse from the now squashed by a double decker bus healer, Adham Waldron.

_Take Alastor's happiest moment and twist it into something dark. _

* * *

Alastor woke, screaming, from his nightmare. A terrible, lurid … oh _please_ let it be only that… a bad dream… where he had beaten the hell out of Minerva, bruised her, ripped her clothes and forced her… on her back… forced her to… while he had rutted like an… _**animal**_.

Blessed, sweet Ériu, no…_**no**_…

Why did he remember doing exactly that? Where _**was**_ she? Where the bloody hell _**was**_ she? Tabby had probably fled from him…from the monster to which she had opened her home.

"MINERVA!" Alastor roared. "I swear I didn't _**mean**_ it. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why. I'm so sorry, I'm _**so**_ sorry."

There was only one morally correct response to the current situation.

He should go directly to Azkaban, but the shame… the disgrace… He knew how such incidents were viewed. They might blame it on Minerva… and he couldn't… simply couldn't… bear it.

It was long past time to end it.

Taking his wand, he deliberately placed it against his temple, and began to whisper THE incantation. The next time they came to check on him, they'd find him dead.

"F-F-ffff…" he tearfully stuttered over the last word in the damn charm and then he had to restart it from the beginning.

_**That's the coward's way out,**__** an**__** easy way out while wearing your big girl blouse**_, his father's specter informed him. _**Bad enough my son is a defiler but a **__**coward**__** to boot?**_

Da looked like… like the blood splattered wreck Alastor had found … after his Da's ambush by the Dark Wizards. The Healers had done what they could to negate the curses… but Terence Moody had _**known**_. He had clenched Alastor's hand and requested that he start the rite. It mattered not that Alastor was not a priest; it was his father's dying request and so a heartbroken Alastor had stumbled through the ritual.

"_You are dying. None should ever die alone. I am here to share your death and to journey with you. There is only love, the greatest Mystery. I reach behind my fear. I open my heart and my eyes in the light of this love. I will go as far on this journey with you as I can. I will not abandon you."_

He had cradled his father's body, refusing to leave him until Sadb, their coven's high priestess could arrive. The Head Aurors had thought him utterly mad, driven around the bend and back again by his father's murder. Just because he was steadfastly chanting the traditional rituals for their dead and ignoring everyone's requests that he release the body. They were Christians, they didn't understand. His father was High Priest, the rituals _**needed**_ to be done. His soul needed to be set free from the physical plane…

Then Diana, beautiful, marvelous Diana, who _**knew**_ he believed that she hung the stars in the sky… utterly brilliant Diana who relished how he'd do _**anything**_ just for one of her hellos… charismatic, witty Diana…who enjoyed her pick of lovers from all the unmarried Aurors… who bloody relished that horribly smitten, socially awkward Alastor _**BURNED**_ for her… was so ruddy amused that he willingly volunteered to do all her utter shite Auror work that even her trainees refused to do… had sat next to him. Not saying a word… just being there….

She had washed his hands, as he had failed to register that they were blood stained.

After the memorial service, after he played his fiddle one last time for his Da, his grief had finally unmanned him. Diana had let him weep on her shoulder… like the brokenhearted child he was… and when his tears had ceased, leaving him a hollow husk, she had offered to take him to bed…

For a long moment, he had debated Diana's proposition. Would it be so _**very**_ wrong? To take physical comfort where he could? Fortunately, his strong morals had interceded before he had made a major mistake. He had just lost his father, who was so much more than just his Da. Terence had been Alastor's best friend and his moral compass.

Terence had indoctrinated young Alastor that there was an emotional significance to physical intimacy. It just wasn't based on physical desire, there first needed to mutual reverence and affection. Free-spirited, hedonistic Diana didn't care a lick for him, she was offering what she knew he wanted… out of _**pity**_, perhaps?

Maybe, his heart taunted him, she was just offering for shits and giggles as his status of the Token Virgin Pagan was a long running joke at the Aurors' office. It was a shaggy dog story about Alastor needing protection whenever there was a Dark Mage who might be interested in a male, virginal Auror for nefarious purposes. His fellow Aurors' ribald comments had not bothered Alastor a lick. He knew his Da had waited and had run through the same gantlet. Besides, it was usually ironic – what with all their yammering about saving his virginity, he was the one defending their less than pure arses from being Imperio'd.

Da had put it best. The Moodys had their Goddess; they had their ethics, plus excellent wand work and that's all that mattered.

Easy enough to parrot the Goddess-line when it wasn't Diana to whom he was speaking. Tongue-tied and stuttering, Alastor had turned her down, explaining to Diana that she was a respectable Lady, not a common light skirt servicing customers in a dark alley. And while he had long accepted that she dismissed him and his personal values as nothing more than a source of personal amusement, he'd _**never**_ treat her like a whore that she seemed to believe herself to be.

That comment had gotten Diana's knickers in a bunch and she had told him in no uncertain terms that just because she enjoyed having sex and _**lots**_ of it, it didn't mean she was a whore. Alastor's immediate retort was that he placed a different value on intimacy than she did. He valued emotional closeness and mutual respect far above his body's physical needs. While she had been gifted with a face that could launch a thousand ships, he had long accepted the fact that he had been blessed with a face that launched to _**sink. **_But that reality didn't mean he was accepting anything less.

His harsh candor had shocked her.

Had surprised him, in fact.

Their row had gotten steadily worse. Ended up with Diana storming out and Alastor in his flat, staring at the picture of his Da and his Mum dancing together. He had spent the entire night cursing himself, wondering what was so bloody wrong with him, why he let his stinking ethics get in the way. Should have just his dropped his bloody trou and thrown his Quaffle toward the bloody hoop. It wasn't like Diana expected him to _**know**_ what the bloody hell to do. Well, he _**did**_, he just didn't have firsthand knowledge…

He had cauterized his feelings for Diana after that. Had inured himself to her physical charms and her musical laugh. He had just kept his bloody mouth shut whenever they had to deal with each other. She could clean her own bloody gear after all, didn't need him doing it. She'd say hello, he'd just nod his head.

Then the Fates… well… perhaps a whimsical Goddess was closer to the truth… had gotten involved, throwing them together on numerous assignments with long stakeouts. Alastor had limited their interactions to terse, curt comments. She had taken his reticence as a personal challenge, asking him about the various Auror Moodys and his religion. Slowly, Diana had pulled him out of his solitary nature and their estrangement had thawed.

It had taken him a while to realize that unrestrained, free loving Diana was no longer dallying with various Aurors. Truth be told, he had barred her personal life so far from his thoughts that he had not even known about her abstemious lifestyle until she had enlightened him. Keeping track of Diana and her many suitors was like having a problem with one's sugar, he had finally decided. If you couldn't ever have a sweet, 'twas best if you just refused to notice it. Seeing it meant _**acknowledging**_ it and soon you'd start craving what would kill you.

Yes, she had tartly informed him about her new outlook on life while he was in his personal bed at Mungo's. After being hit with elevenity seven assorted hexes that had been directed at her. Alastor had been loopy on half a dozen potions and Diana had believed him sleeping when she had unburdened her soul. Not only was she quite vexed that he had gotten hurt in a misguided, chauvinistic need to prove his bloody masculinity, she was furious that he was determined to get himself killed.

It seemed that Diana had wished to ask him out for a cuppa after work, and well, she couldn't bloody ask him out on a date that if he was bloody dead, now could she?

Maybe… Maybe… that's why he had fallen so hard for Minerva. He lacked the social graces of a Malfoy, couldn't hope to woo a woman with his silver tongue. She was tart and astringent, a force with which to be reckoned, yet so empathetic. She… she… was so bloody much like Diana… and yet… most assuredly not Diana. Hadn't taken the mickey out of him when he had told her about his… pristine packaging. Diana hadn't originally understood its importance to him… yet Minerva had easily accepted it. Minerva had understood that his first time had to be done properly. With reverence and affection; mutual esteem and a dash of good humor.

Oh yes, his first time had been done right proper.

He had _**respected**_ Minerva… he had somehow overpowered her, beat her with his fists, torn her clothes and rutted on her like a mindless monster. Foolishly, Alastor had always believed that the death of his parents and Diana had been the spiritual nadirs of his life. Little had he realized that they were just the emotional appetizers for _**this**_.

Alastor Moody wept uncontrollably, wishing that he had died when he had the chance, until he finally eased into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Big Man is weeping_, Fawkes dutifully informed Albus.

Fawkes' main failing was that he was quite vain. But in the Phoenix's defense, it was only natural, as well, he _**was**_ both Bright and Beautiful. Fortunately for those that loved Fawkes, he also possessed a kind heart. He liked Minerva very, very much, and not just because she had fed him. She was a Not-Stupid, and she always talked to him. Since she had nested with Big Man, Fawkes decided that he had a duty to be exceedingly Phoenixy helpful in this situation. Well, he normally would have assisted, but since Big Man was Minerva's bondmate, well, Fawkes would be extra supportive.

Albus Dumbledore nearly dropped his cuppa when Fawkes began to sing a song of healing and peace combined with a dash of sleep aid at full volume. As it was, Albus splashed his tea when he put it on Minerva's floor. He put his fingers in his ears in a feeble attempt not to be deafened by Fawkes' loud version of a Phoenixy Pick me Up Song.

_Can't you sing it in his room?_

Well, yes, he could, if the Phoenix had a wish to experience his Burning Day three months early. What if Big Man realized that Fawkes had witnessed his Bonding with Minerva? He would be ashamed, possibly furious, no doubt. Humans did not take Phoenixy Pride in a successful Bonding Flight. No, no, no, they treated it as something shameful, something that should be hidden underneath bedsheets and fluffy duvets. He might be very angry and Curse the Bright and Beautiful Fawkes. Therefore, in the safety of Minerva's sitting room, Fawkes continued to loudly sing and then crescendoed from a _Vivaci_ movement into a long _Rallentando _finale. He ended his solo at a Phoenix_ fortissimo_.

His song of cheer ended, he extended his wings to await Albus' applause. While Albus didn't know that Minerva and the Big Man had nested, he should still appreciate Fawkes' impromptu aria. When Albus did not applaud, Fawkes gave him the Evil Eye which Albus ignored.

Very well, Fawkes chastised himself. There was no accounting for taste, and his beloved Albus was certainly guilty of high crimes against Good Fashion. The Phoenix dramatically shuddered thinking of that one green outfit that his Albus wore. Perhaps, next time he was a nestling, he should shred it and turn it into a warm and fuzzy nest. Albus would be annoyed, but if Fawkes made a nestling chirp or three, Albus would forgive him. Sometimes, it was quite good to be Bright and Beautiful but Fawkes sternly warned himself _**not**_ to overuse it.

"Big Man is weeping?" Albus repeated. "Is Alastor still awake?"

_You should clean up the spill, before it leaves a mark. Minerva will be most displeased if she returns to find that you have marked her floors like an untrained crup. _Fawkes informed him. _He was __**hurting**__. I put him to sleep. He should hopefully sleep until tomorrow morning. _

"So long?" Albus asked. "Why did you put him to sleep for that long?"

_I didn't. I just helped him fall asleep. He is… exhausted. _Fawkes struggled not to think of the happy reason why the Big Man was so fatigued nor why Minerva had walked so gingerly. _**Very**__ exhausted. _

Oh _**no**_, Albus pounced on the wisps of his thoughts and focused. Even though Fawkes clutched tightly to his perch and plaintively thought of how hungry he was, how abused he was by Albus, guilt did not distract Albus. He was auburn-haired hound intent on the trail of his prey.

"Alastor and Minerva? Are you _**sure**_?" Albus asked. His blue eyes were twinkling. "Minerva did seem to have a glow about her, and she didn't want to leave Alastor. I thought that was odd, considering she had Quidditch Cup tickets. I had hoped something might… develop… between them. I must confess that I was hoping for, at _**most**_, a strong camaraderie, but boy-girl… "

Albus nodded his head. "Probably recent, as Alastor just started using crutches. Was he in physical pain? Was that why he was sobbing? I have pain potions that we can give him."

_Not physical pain_, Fawkes admitted. _There was a blackness to his soul and he was in agony. _

"His soul?" Albus repeated. "I should check on him. Come with me?"

* * *

Arthur Weasley was not normally a cranky man, but last night, Ron had been up to all hours what with colic. He loved his family; his wife and his many children, every single one of them, from the man about the house, Bill, down to the youngest, Ron, but if Ron had another night like last night, he'd be a babbling auburn baboon.

He entered his office, hoping for a bit of peace. It was Saturday and he did have a report to finish for Monday. No one should be in the office. Instead, he had the roundly pregnant Alice Longbottom who was sitting in his chair. She was wearing her Auror clothing which meant she was on Auror authorized business. And officially, Arthur and Auror Alice didn't know each other as more than casual acquaintances.

"Sorry, I commandeered your chair. I'm just so tired," she explained with a saucy grin. Her grin quickly faded as she turned all business. "You're listed as Alastor Moody's contact."

"That I am," Arthur answered. His father, Septimus, and Terence Moody had gotten along like a house on fire, so their kids had been friendly. When Arthur had first shown up at Hogwarts, the seventh year Moody had always let Arthur tag along, treating him more of a little brother than Arthur's own brothers had. The two men had remained close even after all these years. "Is there a problem?"

"You know that Albus Dumbledore has Alastor hidden somewhere." Alice's mobile face conveyed the Official Party line that Albus Dumbledore was a Nutter who stuck his Crooked Nose Wherever it was Least needed. Off the record, her blue eyes were quite amused.

"What's the problem, Auror? Why do you need to contact Alastor?" Arthur asked. He didn't confirm or deny her accusation that Albus had absconded with Auror Alastor.

"Officially, you _**know**_ that I can't tell you. Unofficially, Healer Adham got squashed by a Muggle double decker bus." Alice slowly exhaled. "There's more. We can't find Adham's wife. No one seems to have noticed her missing either."

"What do you think?" Arthur asked. "You Know Who?"

"Who else?" That was her quick retort. "Yet, it doesn't match his modus operandi. People would know, people would be afraid. Her disappearance would be noticed and remarked upon. His body is at St. Mungo's and here's a list of what was on his body."

Arthur slipped the piece of paper into his pocket and he nodded his head.

"He's watching Alastor as Minerva needed a bit of a break. I'll go speak with him." Then in a louder voice, Arthur added, "No, I don't know where Alastor is."

* * *

Edgar was being _**horrible**_. He was flirting with Minerva like he meant it. He didn't, as they had been friends for far too long to even go down that twisted road. Yet, after Alastor's embarrassment over their escapades, Edgar's flirtations were a soothing balm to her trampled self-esteem. In fact, she gave back as good as Edgar gave.

The Muggles had this odd torture treatment called a Swedish massage that Albus had signed her up for at the Edinburgh Hotel. Her back had been massaged and beaten into submission and she had nary a twinge. It wasn't Alastor's fault as he had been exceedingly considerate of her back, but next time it might be best if her assignations took place in a comfy bed. Not under the moonlight while worshiping a pagan goddess.

Really, Minerva was feeling rather pensive. She had hoped that Alastor would have gotten some comfort… yet … it seemed that she had succeeded in straining their friendship. Or maybe it was just a bad case of the morning afters, just a wee bit early. Perhaps in time, they'd be able to share a fond smile over their secret.

"_You're so beautiful, lass," Alastor had tenderly whispered. His fingers had been careful as he played with her hair. And he had sleepily smiled… __**smiled…**__ at her while they were cuddling. _

Well, she'd still purchase him a Ballycastle shirt. Doubtful he'd ever be caught wearing it, but least Alastor would know she was thinking of him while she was at the Quidditch Cup. She picked up a black and scarlet shirt and mentally estimated his size. Alastor had those lovely broad shoulders plus more than a few inches on her.

"That's not my size, Min," Edgar teased her. "Plus I'm not a Ballycastle man. I'm a proud Pride fan!"

"It's for my house guest," Minerva explained. She failed to notice that Edgar's eyes narrowed. If she had, Minerva might have thought that Edgar was a might jealous regarding Alastor Moody vacationing at her home. But perhaps not, as she didn't view Edgar that way.

"Well, let's get to our seats, shall we?" Edgar requested after Minerva paid for her purchases. "I have good news. I managed to acquire tickets to the Nimbus seating area. I spoke with one of their sales representatives about the modification I made to someone's broom. They're interested in my hand controls, as they're more responsive that what they've managed to design."

"Nimbus seating?" Minerva repeated.

"Best seats in the entire arena!" Edgar assured her. He held out his arm to her and gave her a roguishly crooked smile. "M'lady? Our seats await!"

* * *

On Saturday morning, Albus went to check on Alastor after the Phoenix informed him that Alastor was finally awake once more and in a very bad state. The wounded Auror had slept the day away and then some away. He hadn't roused once when Albus had previously checked on him. Dumbledore found a sobbing Moody lying on his side, face towards the wall.

"Minerva?" Alastor rasped. His tone conveyed fear, desperation and more than a smidgen of self-hate. "Is that… you?"

"No, it is I," Albus informed the younger man. "She's at the Quidditch World Cup. She won't be back for a few days."

Alastor nodded his head and then motioned to Albus.

"Sit next to me?" Moody pleaded.

Moody wept uncontrollably for a bit and Albus carefully rubbed Moody's back. Dumbledore struggled to be _**compassionate**_ rather than sexual. Last thing Alastor needed was a mistaken belief that Albus was trying to seduce him. The senior Order members knew of Albus' preference, the junior members may or may not, but it wasn't something that Albus broadcasted on the Wizard Wireless Network. He was always very careful about how he touched or didn't touch people. Yet, Alastor seemed to need _**something**_.

Albus would never have guessed what Alastor desired.

It took a great deal of prompting from Albus, but finally, he knew what Alastor wanted.

_**Death**_.

"Will you… put me… down?" Alastor halting requested. "I've tried… but I can't… do the spell. I try… but I can't say the words…"

"Alastor, why do you want me to kill you?" Albus asked. He kept his voice soft and free from accusation.

Again much verbal prodding from Albus was required, but finally a barely functioning Alastor Moody confessed his crime. He was graphic in his details… all too vivid about what he had done to Minerva. How he had forced her… violated her… then after he admitted the horrifying details, he incoherently rambled on how he needed to be killed and _**quietly**_…. Make it seem that the monster's suicide was in response to his trauma, so Minerva's reputation would be maintained. He pleaded with Albus for reassurance that Albus _**knew**_ that what happened wasn't Minerva's fault.

That last plaintive appeal was what saved Alastor's life from a furious Albus' retribution. The puzzling incongruity of it compared to what Alastor claimed to have done gave the greatest mage since Merlin a moment to step back from the situation, regain his composure, regroup and reform.

_The Big Man is mad. _A despondent Fawkes sadly informed Albus.A single tear glistened in the bright black eyes of the Phoenix._ The darkness in his soul has infected his mind. He truly believes that he speaks the truth. For the Big Man, these shadows are his reality. _

Alastor had come undone, _**yes**_.

That much was obvious as Alastor Moody was a rambling, paranoid, psychotic shell of the man Albus once knew. Whether his current condition was from trauma or what else, Albus was quite unsure. Perhaps, the younger Mage might have hurt Minerva, but the Minerva Albus knew would have certainly fought back with all her not inconsiderable might. In fact, now that cooler thoughts were prevailing, Albus knew that they'd be scraping the odds bits and bobs of Moody off the ceiling if he had tried anything like that. Minerva would have fought dirty and she certainly wouldn't be blithely heading off to a Quidditch Cup if she had been violated.

_I saw them nesting after their matings. _Fawkes inserted that comment into his wizard's mind. _They nested together as they were exhausted after their bonding flight, but still they wished for closeness. His hand reached for her after she got out of their nest. He was sleeping, but still he wished her near him. She felt a great deal of fondness for Big Man however she was distressed with something he had done, something he had said. Her back was also paining her, but only slightly. What I saw does not match what Big Man claims to have done. _

Albus put both his hands on Alastor's face and forced him to look at him. For a split second, he touched Alastor's mind and he was almost swept into Moody's maelstrom of madness.

_Self-hate. Grief. Despair. An overwhelming sense of shame. Monster. Monster. __**MONSTER**__!_

_Felt Alastor's unholy rage as he punched and kicked Minerva. Relished the blood on Minerva's face as he punched and punched. He'd teach that bitch a lesson. He'd have her crawling on her belly. Teach her respect._

Albus managed to break the connection, but still he continued to stare at Alastor. The young man's lone eye was bright and feral. His face was twisted in hate.

"Kill _**me**_…" Moody commanded.

"If you did what you say you did, I _**will**_ kill you," quietly promised Albus. "However, I want to talk to Minerva first. I want her to confirm what you supposedly did to her."

"N-n-no…" Alastor stuttered."K-k-k-ill me… Put me down _please_…Don't… make her relive... what I did."

"Alastor, no. I will _**not**_. I will speak with Minerva first," Albus informed him. "I _**know**_ you, Alastor. I know what type of man you are. I do not believe that you're capable…"

"I'm a monster… My Da… should have… drowned me at birth." Alastor broke down into sobs once more even while Albus 'pushed' him into slumber. The older mage took the sleeping mage's wand and hid it in his sleeve. Best keep Alastor's wand far, far away.

"Last thing I need is for you to have a wand, Alastor. You might wish to attempt suicide since I won't kill you."

His Phoenix chirped a sad melody. It was a poignant sound as Alastor's mental disintegration had deeply disturbed the Phoenix.

_Fawkes, please go find Minerva. She's in section 3, box 415, chair 19. Edgar should be in seat 20. Advise her that it is __**imperative**__ that I speak to her. Do NOT tell her anything about Alastor and his current situation. _

For a wonder, Fawkes did not give Albus any arch comments about how he wasn't an owl. No, instead, he focused on finding Minerva. There was a time for arch, catty comments and there was an occasion for action. Fawkes knew that now was such an instance.

* * *

Fawkes the Bright and Beautiful 'popped' into the arena, expecting to see Minerva in her seat. His unexpected arrival caused a loud palaver as the seats were empty. _**EMPTY**_. All the Two Legged Stupids were busy yelling at him, and he couldn't concentrate enough to actually talk with them. But Fawkes could sense that both Edgar and Minerva had not ever sat in their seats and he quickly left.

The Fire Haired Father of Many Scarlet Haired Chicks was there, speaking with Albus. Fawkes interrupted their conversation.

_I could not find Minerva. She is not in the seats you described. She and Edgar did not sit there today. _

"Arthur, Alastor's come undone. You're telling me that Healer Adham is now dead. I can't find Minerva, and there's a great deal that I need to discuss with her. Would it be possible to stay with Alastor? He trusts you and I can't leave him with just anyone."

Arthur shook his head. "I _**can't**_. I promised Molly I'd watch the children so she can get some sleep. Ron's colicky."

Albus nodded his head. "I understand. Perhaps Remus? Fawkes? Can you deliver a note to him? He'll be at Sirius Black's flat."

Really, if the situation wasn't so dire, and if it didn't involved _**his**_ Minerva, Fawkes would inform Albus that he wasn't an owl. Well, when everything was settled and once again proper, Fawkes would remind Albus.

* * *

Remus Lupin was recovering from the full moon. His joints ached and he was drowsing on Sirius' sofa. Just a few minutes more and he'd be gratefully asleep. There was a flash of scarlet and gold, and then he felt the poke of Fawkes' beak in his chest.

_WOLFLING? ARE YOU __**SLEEPING**__? I have a message for you. __**WAKE UP, WOLFLING**__!_

Fawkes seemed rather agitated, which was not a good sign, Remus knew.

"Hello, Fawkes. Just closing my eyes for a bit." Fawkes was a rather literal Phoenix, so he failed to appreciate Remus' dry wit. "Let me read Albus' note."

It took three attempts but Remus managed to read Albus' note. Bugger it; Albus wanted him to Moody sit. Normally, the werewolf didn't mind Moody sitting but it was the day _**after**_ his monthly. He ached in places that a normal twenty year old didn't know existed and… Alastor was a _**big**_ boy.

_I need someone I can trust with Alastor. Now more than ever. Do not tell anyone what you'll be doing. You can tell them you are away on Order Business, but do not tell anyone, __**ANYONE**__, that you are watching Alastor. There is a grave matter that I need to investigate. Please hurry. Fawkes will transport you here. _

_A._

"If I didn't owe you everything, Albus, I'd tell you to go scratch. Very well then, I'll just leave a note for Sirius and then I'll be off by Fawkes Messenger Service," the werewolf quipped.

Once again, the Phoenix failed to understand his humor.

* * *

He had just put down his Biro and he was about to reread his note to Sirius for completeness when Fawkes grabbed the back of his jacket. With a blinding flash, they were gone. When they reappeared, they were at Minerva's door. Remus collapsed on the walkway, trying not to heave up his stomach, and Fawkes loudly chirped. The door opened and Albus ran to the werewolf's side.

"I'm sorry. Normally, I wouldn't have used Fawkes to transport you, but I know you're in no condition to Apparate and I couldn't risk a portkey. Can you stand?" The older mage was solicitous, but he was still pulling Remus to his feet without waiting for an answer. "Fawkes? I made a nest for you. Go rest as I know I've exhausted you."

Albus put one arm under Remus' shoulder and helped him toward Minerva's home.

"Here's the situation, Remus. Alastor appears to have suffered a nervous breakdown."

Albus didn't even attempt to pull his punch, Remus thought.

"Shouldn't he be in St. Mungo's then?" The sensible Remus asked. "He'll need specialized care."

"Healer Adham committed suicide yesterday. Now, I've just been informed that they can't locate Adham's wife. I fear that Adham might have assisted in Alastor's collapse as these incidences cannot be happenstance. I will warn you, Alastor is saying things, _**horrible**_ things. I do not believe that they are true, but I need to investigate. I've taken his wand from him, and cast every Do No Self-Harms spells I could on him," explained Albus.

He helped Remus to the couch and offered him a cuppa. However Remus would not be distracted by bikkies and tea.

"What exactly is Alastor saying?" Remus demanded.

"Swear to me that you will tell NO one," Albus requested. "Not James, not Sirius and not Peter. No one, Remus."

"I solemnly swear," Remus vowed. Savagely, he crushed that small mental voice that gleefully continued with '_that I'm up to no good_'.

"He's begging me to kill him… because… he claims that he hurt Minerva." Albus couldn't bring himself to say _**the**_ Word to Remus. Saying That Word would be akin to casting an Unforgiveable, and once spoken it couldn't be undone.

"He hurt Minerva? _**How**_ did he hurt her?" Remus' torrent of words stopped when he saw Albus' bleak eyes. "Alastor? Alastor Moody? If he did do… _**that**_…to Minerva… I'll _**kill**_ him myself."

The strength of Remus' regard for Minerva McGonagall was second only to his esteem for Albus Dumbledore. He took a deep breath and attempt to control the Wolf within. The Wolf wanted nothing more than to rip out Alastor's throat.

"Remus, I believed that I knew Alastor quite well. The man I once knew? He'd never do that, but _**this**_ Alastor, he _**believes**_ it. _**Remembers**_ doing it. "

"So he could have done it then," said a rather bleak Remus.

"I saw Minerva yesterday, after it supposedly happened. She seemed slightly quieter than her norm yet I believe that if Alastor had attempted to do what he claims, Moody would _**not**_ be here. I need to speak to Minerva, confirm what did or did not happen, and I have to investigate the rather strange potions that Adham was giving Alastor. I'm not familiar with them, so I will need to consult with a Potions Master. It could be an adverse reaction to his potions."

"Potions Master? Going to see Sluggie?" Remus asked. "I'd tell you to say hello for old time's sake, but I wasn't one of his Slug Club members."

"No, someone else. Horace, while quite adept, isn't as familiar with the possible potions interactions as this Potions Master."

"Who is this Potions Master? You don't wish me to tell anyone that I'm here…" Remus paused, realized that he was questioning Albus Dumbledore almost as though he was Sirius Black!

"It's someone I trust. Trust completely. And I can safely say that it's someone you _**don't**_ know at all. If Alastor wakes, be prepared for him to be quite disturbed. Put him back to sleep if you can. If you require my help, ask Fawkes." Albus turned to face his familiar who was dead to the world, snug in his nest. His bowl of fresh spring water and plates of seeds, fruit and assorted Phoenixy delicacies were untouched. Gently, he caressed the Phoenix who remained asleep. "Hopefully, I haven't completely exhausted him. I had him up an ungodly hour yesterday and I've been treating him like an owl."

"Plus he had to deliver me," Remus reminded Albus. "I'm a rather large package."

"Yes," Albus admitted. "Take good care of Fawkes. And remember, right now, it's best to believe that Alastor is delusional."

"I'll do my best, Albus," the werewolf promised Albus. He was about to quantify his assurance but Albus nodded his head.

"If you need help with Alastor, by all means, get it. Just swear them to secrecy, and make it someone that completely understands the need for confidentiality. In other words, no Peter and no Sirius."

* * *

Severus Snape was anticipating Albus' arrival. Actually, he had been expecting him several hours ago. Therefore he was even shorter tempered than his norm when Albus Dumbledore finally arrived.

"Severus…" Albus began.

"He's having a psychotic reaction to his potions," Severus explained. "Where's the list?"

"You know? And you didn't mention it?" Albus questioned.

"I was _**just**_ informed by the Dark Lord that he had decided to use Alastor Moody to help strengthen my position with you. He also didn't tell me exactly what he did so I wouldn't come up with an answer too quickly for you. That way you wouldn't doubt my loyalty," sniped Severus. "What's going on with Moody?"

Albus gave a quick overview of the situation, paused and then mentioned his recent conversation with Alastor, not glossing over the Minerva situation but requesting that Severus honor his request for secrecy. Severus examined the list of potions for some time and then he shook his head.

"He should be having hallucinations and delusions, yes. An inability to sleep due to severe nightmares, yes, but he shouldn't believe that his phantasms are reality. If anything, he should become increasingly unwrapped due to the fact he knows that he's hallucinating."

"So you're saying?" An uneasy Albus prompted Severus for more information.

"If his belief is as strong as you say it is, he may have actually attacked Professor McGonagall." Severus stated that in a flat tone, and Albus realized anew that while Severus was actually working with the Good Guys, he didn't actually care for any of them.

_I have to work on that_, Albus reminded himself. _He can't be doing this just for Lily._ _But first I need to get Alastor and Minerva squared away. _

"Can you do anything to help Alastor?" Albus questioned.

"I'll see what I can do," was the young man's grumbled response. Alastor gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder which Severus shrugged off.

"Contact me when it's done," Albus requested. He paused and then added a sincere, "Thank you, Severus. I appreciate your help with this. There's no one else I could trust with this."

Again, Severus made a disparaging comment but Albus believed that somewhere down deep, Severus simply wanted to be respected and appreciated. It was Albus' deep shame that he had failed to realize this during Severus' formative years.

* * *

Alastor woke and instinctively, he reached for his wand. He continued searching for it until at last the bitter realization that Albus Dumbledore had _**nicked**_ his wand was his.

"Min?" he whispered.

No response. That damnable, daft, all too badly dressed Albus had wrapped him up in so many anti-suicide spells that he could only _**wait**_. Action was required, and so he thought and stewed upon his dark thoughts until he realized he had a way around Albus' spells. Really, his detour around Dumbledore's meddling was quite apt. Even his blood stained Da who was bitterly haranguing him night and day finally gave him approval.

He'd let Minerva do the honors. She should have done it anyway. What the hell was she waiting for? She just should have _**ended**_ it.

Closing his eyes, he thought of his happiest moment. It took him a while, but he finally focused on one memory.

_When he realized that it would be Minerva to end his miserable life._

"Expecto Patronum."

Setanta appeared and his patronus was in a bad way. Looked like he had been in a fight with a chimera and he had barely escaped with his life. He was limping and dragging his tail on the ground. All his fire was gone, instead it was all he could do to place one paw after another on the ground.

"Find her, lad." Alastor pleaded. "Get her here, so she can end it."

Setants licked Alastor's hand one last time and then disappeared.


	7. Chapter 7

Oh, yes! Nimbus company seating at the World Quidditch Cup was a _**wonderful**_ experience. For one thing, the box seats were comfortable and luxuriously padded, unlike the stadium seat Minerva had purchased. Edgar was being quite flirtatious and charming, in a completely over the top way. Minerva knew that nothing existed between the two of them except for a comfortable friendship, yet Edgar's mock interest was a balm to her bruised ego. She could _**almost**_ forget about her young house guest.

"I also managed to acquire two tickets to the Pride's Party. You interested?" Edgar teasingly questioned.

Did the sun rise in the east? To get tickets to The Party of the Quidditch World Cup? Well, wouldn't Rolanda Hootch eat her thigh high leather boots for tea and have her best velvet hat for afters when she heard that _**MINERVA MCGONAGALL**_ had gained admittance to this particular party? A mischevious Minerva delighted in the very idea that she could lord this experience over Rolanda. It was only fair after listening to Rolanda's long stories about her Quidditch years.

"Yes!" Minerva impulsively hugged a delighted Edgar.

* * *

"How's Fawkes? Alastor?" A concerned Albus questioned Remus.

"Fawkes is napping while Alastor is still asleep," the rather thankful Remus admitted. "Fawkes woke, ate and then decided it was necessary to nap again."

"Very well. Alastor's psychotic break down appears to be the results of the potions he was given. Voldemort…" Then Albus shook his head when Remus instinctively shivered at the mention of THAT name. "Remus, refusal to voice a name only gives it power that it doesn't deserve."

Yes, 'twas easy for Albus to say that. He had defeated Gellert Grindelwald. While wearing color coordinated gear generously bedazzled and bespangled.

_**And a tassel, one mustn't forget the tassel, **_a sleepyFawkes inserted into Remus' mind. Then in a sing-song way, Fawkes commented, _**A tussle, a mandatory tassel, requiring a slight heel to appeal, having a vain mage can be a hassle, especially when he forgets his familiar's meal!**_

And there was no doubt that Albus had heard his Phoenix's quip. Because Albus' blue eyes were quite amused.

"Actually, I wore practical clothes with sensible shoes." Albus' voice was mild when he disagreed with Remus' clothing assassination. "Nary a heel! Now I'm off to locate Minerva. Though I will check on Alastor first and then feed Fawkes."

* * *

_**He's coming to check on you. **_His father's phantom warned him.

Alastor nodded his head. Roughly, he wiped his eyes to hide the damning tears. If he was sleeping, well, he wouldn't be bawling like a lost moo moo looking for his mum. Madness and self-hate had left him prone to bouts of uncontrollable sobbing. However, once he had emptied his seemingly bottomless vat of tears, he was left feeling hollow but blessed with an almost startling clarity of thought. Because Alastor _**knew**_ that seeing his father was a really bad sign. Chatting with your dead meant that one had gone astray in the head.

_**Shhh… Sssshh…. Shhhh…. Go to sleep, boyo. Remember when you were sick with the Mongolian Flu? I played for you and sang you to sleep. Now, close your eyes…. **_Terence sat next to his son and began quietly tuning up his mandolin. Really, wasn't it _**odd**_ that a ghost had to tune his instrument? But listening to his Da play had been some of his happiest memories, because Terence had been still alive as had been Diana.

He nearly broke down into tears again as he couldn't help but wonder why, why, _**why**_ the Goddess had kept him alive.

His father kept plucking and humming his mandolin. At last the infernal instrument tuned, Terence began to softly sing. Terence had often sung this particular song, a testimony of his personal grief and despair over the loss of his wife. Alastor could barely remember what his mom looked like, how she had sounded but he remembered that she had soft, caring hands. She had played the fiddle also.

_**Well, I worked for the Ministry, for t'pence a day  
Drank down one penny, the other I'd save  
I fought and I cast for Goddess knows how long  
Well into madness, with each setting sun…**_

Alastor closed his eyes and pretended to sleep even when Albus came in to examine him. He kept his breathing slow and regular, managing to fool the great Dumbledore. But _**really**_ couldn't Albus hear Terence singing?

_**I put my head down and I dreamt you were here  
With me by the ol' tree, where no one could care**_

He was so damn tired, his head was nodding… He was lying in Minerva's arms under her big oak tree and she was rubbing his back.  
_**  
**_"Go to sleep, Alastor. 'tis all a bad dream," whispered Minerva.

"I am but _**mad**_, north-north-west," he moaned.

Deliberately, she wiped his tears from his eyes.

"Alastor, why are you so sad?" was her response. "I know something lovely we can do together that is guaranteed to make you laugh."

The damn minx wouldn't take no for an answer. Kept kissing him, touching him… he kept pleading, no, no, _**no**_. She straddled him, assuring him that she'd take care of everything… Then… later….

"Sometimes… it just doesn't happen, Alastor. Let's snuggle for a bit, and perhaps…"

He just shook his head.

"Alastor, I do fancy the kilt off you," the witch insisted. "We can try it again, love."

Too shattered to find the strength to protest another go-round, Alastor just nodded his head.

This was _**hell**_. To relive the experience over and over again, to suffer anew the realization when his control had slipped and he had _**rutted**_….

_**Far Away Boys, Far Away Boys, away from ya now  
I'm lyin' with my sweetheart in her arms, I'll be found…**_

He'd catch a few stolen moments of sleep, then wake up in panic, reliving Minerva under him while he punched the bloody hell out of her.

How could he have overpowered her? It didn't make sense… but he _**remembered**_.

Why hadn't Albus just killed him?

No doubt out of a misguided sense of loyalty, his refusal to believe that Alastor Moody was capable of such a heinous act.

Perhaps… instead of waiting for Minerva… he could commit suicide by werewolf. Shouldn't call him _**that**_, as Albus had verified Remus' character, yet the signs were there. The lad had submerged the fiend within him as well as he could, but _**monsters, like he was,**_ like Remus was, they _**knew**_ kin.

Probably watching Moody out of a sense of Monsterly obligesse.

The lad's guard was slipshod when he walked into the room. Terence had remarked on it, how Remus was almost lackadaisical when approaching Alastor. As though he deemed the maimed Auror as no threat.

If he attacked Remus… made the boy fear for his life… well… they would define his death as justifiable self-defense.

* * *

Minerva shook her head. Why was she thinking of Alastor? Ah, because Paddy Daly of the Pride looked a bit like Alastor. Tall, broad shouldered, shaggy, ginger hair, though rather sapling thin. Didn't quite have the same mellow laugh that Alastor had on the few times he allowed himself to unbend. Minerva did enjoy the sound of Alastor's amusement; especially after he had climaxed. It was reassuring that Alastor had gotten pleasure from their couplings. Ok, maybe not… reassuring, how about a much needed ego-boost to a mature witch that a young man like Alastor….

Took away the sting of Alastor's morning after behavior.

"You were smiling," Edgar quietly remarked. "And now you've stopped. Why are you so pensive?"

"It is nothing," she assured him. "Just a quick thought and it's gone."

"Your House Guest?" Edgar softly stressed the capitals. "Don't worry about him. He's fine. And I know that he greatly appreciates _**everything**_ you've done for him."

"Really?" was her ironic quip.

"Yes, and right now, I'm sure he wants you to enjoy yourself. Have some wine," he offered.

* * *

Alice Longbottom and her belly were in a foul mood thanks in part to Lily Potter introducing the pureblood to the joys of crisps. Little crunchy things they were, but they came in such flavors!

"Where's the Frazzles?" She demanded. "I told you, Frank, if you couldn't get the Frazzles, I'd want the Thai sweet chili crisps, along with the stilton & cranberry and mango chili ones. Some party this is."

Lily Potter and her belly gave their fellow Order member a sympathetic look.

"I told James that I wanted Monster Munch," Lily explained. "Couldn't find it. Couldn't be bothered is more like it. He's always hanging out with Frank and Sirius… bemoaning how difficult _**we're **_being."

The two-due-any-possible-moment-pregnant-witches glared at their spouses and then sighed.

"I think you'll have Neville before Harry shows up," Lily commiserated. "James is late for _**everything**_ while Frank is quite prompt."

Meanwhile, their two abused spouses were hoping that Sirius Bloody Black had found the bloody crisps even though the git was taking his bloody sweet time. Yes, James and Frank had stood toe to toe with who they wouldn't even dare think of naming while their pregnant spouses were in the next room, but Snake Face had _**nothing**_ on their wives craving crisps.

Sirius had just returned victorious from the Battle of the Crisps when a rather put-out Fawkes arrived.

"_**Big Man has tied up Wolfling," **_Fawkes announced. _**"Wolfing believes Big Man will kill him."**_

Then the Phoenix popped out, leaving everyone quite confused.

* * *

When the lad came back in, Alastor was prepared. He might be one-eyed, one legged and wandless to boot, but Aurors wrote the book on dirty fighting. Like his father had taught him, just because one wouldn't stoop to use an Unforgiveable didn't mean you couldn't fight dirty.

He attacked quickly, throwing a series of Hexes at Remus that came this close to hitting him. For good measure, he also managed to flip Minerva' heavy oak table over, knocking Remus on his bum.

"ALASTOR!" Remus protested. "It's me, Remus. Stop fighting!"

Stupid git, didn't Lupin know disarm first? Then chinwag. What was Albus teaching the children?

He threw another hex at Remus, destroying one of Minerva's vases. He felt a flash of guilt because he was taking the term 'bad houseguest' to a new low.

Remus wasn't really putting much back into his spells. He was half-heartedly casting, as though the wandless cripple wasn't much of a threat.

Blessed Ériu, did Alastor need to do _**everything**_?

_**I really don't believe that he's taking you very seriously**_, Terence remarked to his son.

Oh bugger it, his father was _**back**_.

"I'm gonna kill you, wolf!" Alastor roared in an attempt to motivate Remus. Then he unleashed a few underhanded hexes followed up by two charms.

To his horror, he _**unwanded**_ Remus. The two men stared at Remus' wand that lay on the floor. Then they looked at each other, and Remus swallowed. Once. Twice. Three times. Then Remus made a quick grab for his … well… Alastor's new wand.

Bloody, _**bloody**_ hell. Alastor tackling Remus so the stupid git wouldn't hurt. They rolled on the floor for a bit, Alastor biting his lips from the pain in his non-existent knee. They wrestled like lovers until the heavier Moody finally pinned the slighter Remus to the ground. He gestured and Remus' wand flew to his hand. It for his own good, as Remus' wand might turn on him now that its Master was Alastor. And Alastor truly didn't want Remus hurt.

He just wanted to die.

_**Quickly**_, so he could face his Goddess' displeasure straightaway.

"Lad," he said. "There's only way this will end. You dead or me. Now get up and fight. Stop dancing or I'll _**kill**_ you."

"_**Alastor**_," Remus protested while Alastor struggled back into a standing position. What the hell was REMUS' problem? He should have immediately hexed Alastor's crutch!

"Enough talkin'!" roared Alastor. He began casting anew, determined to scare Remus into defending himself. He'd step into the Hex, welcome it gladly.

The boy's eyes narrowed as though he _**FINALLY**_ realized that Alastor was serious. And Albus thought this lad was the smartest of the four musketeers? Then the Order was doomed. _**DOOMED**_ ! The fight began in earnest, Remus, at least, deeming Alastor a serious opponent.

Instinct took over, hard learned lessons coming in handy and when his increasingly fragmented sanity returned, Alastor realized he had really buggered it up. Well, buggered it up even more than attacking a fellow Order member. How the bloody hell had he managed to overpower the able-bodied Remus? The lad was wrapped up in so many Charms and countercharms that he couldn't move a bloody inch. His eyes were wild though, wide in fear as he _**knew**_ that Alastor was about to kill him.

His father was softly chuckling. _**It doesn't look like your plan worked. Best Laid plans...**_

"Bloody hell," an exasperated Alastor growled at the securely snared werewolf. "You'd bloody bugger up a wet dream! You were _**supposed**_ to _**kill**_ me. Constant vigilance! What the hell did you learn at Hogwarts? What the bloody hell were you _**thinking**_? Trying to grab that wand? It could have ignited! You could have lost a buttock! Why the hell am I wasting my breath trying to teach you something you should have learned at Hogwarts!"

_**While he's in need of true chastisement, best sit before you fall on your face. **_His father's phantasm gently suggested. _**You're looking a might unsteady boyo. **_

"Da… he was _**supposed**_ to kill me," a tired Alastor protested. "I want to be dead before she returns…. I need to be dead… I'm such a cack-handed bastard. I can't do anything right."

_**Aye. Now sit down before you fall down. **_His father brushed his insubstantial hand through Alastor's messy hair. _**And for the record, you know you aren't a bastard. Your mum and I had been married for some time when we made you.**_

Moody stood in the corner, placed his hand on the wall, and slid to the floor. It gave him a unique perspective as he looked around the remnants of the room. There were shattered vases, broken mirrors, more melted candlesticks… and… dear, sweet blessed Ériu what the bloody hell had happened to the sofa? But the pièce de résistance? The hogtied werewolf.

"Bloody hell," Alastor whispered. "Look what I've done to her room."

It was comical how everything seemed to be conspiring to keep him alive. The sheer perversity of it all was rather ironic and Alastor had to chuckle. His laughter was soft at first and then louder until he was roaring. It was an uncontrollable laugher that quickly turned to body shaking sobbing. His father urged him to cry until his tears were exhausted.

"Da? I'm _**unraveling**_," Alastor moaned.

_**Have faith, Al. This will be over soon. **_

"Will you sing for me?" the weary Moody requested. "Nothing upbeat… perhaps a dirge?"

* * *

Alastor Moody was stark, raving nutters, talking to his dead Da no less, yet he was still a wizard to be feared. Remus couldn't get untied as Alastor had created a type of self-restoring magical energy so his magical restraints wouldn't weaken. It was really quite impressive as Alastor had just created the spell on the bloody spot. Well, it would have been more impressive if Remus Lupin wasn't the one wrapped up like a bloody Catherine's wheel.

Damn Albus. Damn him! He had warned Remus and then merrily gone on his way. No doubt to buy something sparkly to match his eyes.

Yet, Albus had gone alone. Fawkes was still in the other room.

_**FAWKES?**_ Remus mentally called.

No response. No doubt the bloody feather duster had overdosed on sweets and was dreaming happy thoughts.

_**FAWKES! FAWKES! FAAAWWWWKEEEESSSS! **_

A mental pop in his mind as though a sleepy bird brain….

_**!!!!!!!! **_

Even though Remus wasn't fluent, he expected that it wasa rather rude comment in Phoenixese.

The _**beautiful**_, _**brilliant**_ and extremely obliging Fawkes had woken, Remus cajoled. Fawkes was quite handsome and helpful; he must not forget to stress how _**helpful**_ Fawkes was.

_Wolfling. What? _Fawkes' dry mental tone suggested that Remus cut the sweet talking.

_**Fawkes. Alastor is quite utterly mad. I need your help.**_

_Big Man?_ Fawkes sounded concerned.

_**I really think he's gone round the bend, Fawkes. He's foaming at the mouth nutters!**_

_Not Big Man! Big Man isn't like that, Wolfling! Wolfling is exaggerating! Wolfling must have done __something__ to upset Big Man. Wolfling must explain why I should aid __him__, instead of helping Minerva's Big Man. Big Man is ill. Albus is away, trying to heal him. _

Fawkes sounded truly annoyed with Remus. As thought it was completely his fault that Alastor had trussed him up like a turkey.

_**Fawkes? Why don't you come into the room? Big Man is talking to his father. **_

_????_

_**His father has been dead for three years. He's having a bloody conversation with his father and right now the two of them are singing duets.**_

_How does Wolfing hear Big Man's Dead Father sing? The Dead do not sing, Wolfling? Are you not mad if you hear the dead sing?  
_

One would think that after being Albus' sidekick for the better part of a lifetime, Fawkes would understand the beauty of a dryly understated quip. Or perhaps Fawkes was tired of being the straight man… bird… to the whimsical Albus.

_**Fawkes, Big Man…err… Alastor… has restrained me and has threatened to kill me. Then he got upset because I didn't kill him! Now, he's singing songs with his dead Da. I could really use some help. Can you possibly sing him to sleep?**_

_No._

_**Fawkes? Please?**_

_Big Man may Hex me. If I'm a chick, I cannot fly. There would be two of us there then as I would be unable to help you. _

_**Can you please get James here?**_

Pop. The Phoenix's mental presence disappeared from his mind.

Oh bloody hell, Remus groaned. His life was held completely in the claws of the rather vain and featherbrained Fawkes. Alastor was still singing with his father but Remus couldn't help but focus on something that Fawkes had said. Minerva's Big Man.

Minerva's Alastor?

Alastor and _**MINERVA**_?

Remus Lupin always found Minerva intimidating at the best of times, but to imagine her undressed? In the throes of passion? No wonder Alastor had cracked like an egg from the trauma.

* * *

Alastor had dozed for a bit when he heard the tell-tale sound of an Apparation. Took a minute or three but Alastor managed to stand on his one good leg, back braced against the wall with Remus' wand steady in his hand.

"One step closer and he's dead!" growled Alastor. "It'll be your fault!"

_**Hold your FIRE, lad! **_His father ordered. _**There are pregnant women in the room! **_

Really, he was coming quite undone as his father was in the room, yelling at him like he was a tyro with a brand new wand.

_**Blessed Ériu! It's Alice! I hope that the Goddess gives the baby her ears. Frank's ears would be a cruel punishment, **_was Terence's droll comment.

"Alice, I was hoping for James and Frank," a rather terse Remus admitted. "While it's lovely to see you and Lily…"

"The boys are getting Arthur. I decided that I can handle Alastor," Alice Longbottom held out her hands to show that she was wandless. She was also standing in front of Lily. "Alastor… Alastor… what are you _**doing**_?"

"Killing Lupin," Alastor insisted. Really, wasn't it _**obvious**_?

"If you really wanted to kill Remus, he'd be dead already. Even if you are hopping on one leg like you're the bloody hopping pot made flesh. But that's not the way you are," Alice reminded Alastor. "All the years I've known you, you've never killed anyone. You're not a murderer, Alastor. You don't have it in you. "

"I'm _**crazy**_," Alastor helpfully prompted. Really was it necessary for Alice to roll her eyes at his warning? "Don't know what I'm capable of doing. Don't know what I've become."

"_**Please**_, Alastor," Alice gently chastised him. "You're _**not**_ crazy. Whatever is happening to you now has not changed who you are. You've never killed anyone, Alastor."

"I'm seeing my father. If that doesn't mean I'm crazy, I don't know what will," Alastor protested, wondering anew how his noble plan to commit suicide before Minerva returned to the scene of the crime had gone so bloody wrong. Yet if he was seeing his father, how did he know that he was actually talking to Alice? "How do I know that it's really you, Alice?"

"Alastor Moody, please tell me how can I prove to you that I'm really Alice? That I'm _**Diana's**_ Alice?" The witch asked. "Uncle Terry, if you're really in the room, I truly want to help Alastor. Please reassure Alastor of that simple truth."

_**She's calling me Uncle Terry. There's only a few that know I was her adopted uncle**_, Terence reminded Alastor. _**Her parents and I were trainees together. Let her help you, Al.**_

"Tell me something that only the real Alice would know," pleaded Alastor. His voice was desperate as he was cracking more and more from the very absurdity of it all.

"Something that only Alice would know. I know that your father gave Diane the what for because of the way she treated you," admitted Alice. "He thought that she was treating your feelings too lightly. Diana got quite vexed with Uncle Terry."

Alastor shot a look at his father's ghost who had the grace to look embarrassed.

_**You weren't supposed to know about that. **_

"You said something to Diana?" a disbelieving Alastor asked his father.

_**I was worried. She wasn't of our faith and well… I didn't think she was good enough for you. She proved me wrong and I'm not ashamed to admit that. **_

"You told me that you liked her!" Alastor protested.

The two Moodys were prevented from further discussion by the arrival of Sirius Black, Frank Longbottom, James Potter and Arthur Weasley.

"Look at this mess," Sirius Black remarked as he viewed the destruction of Minerva's home. "Minerva's gonna have a litter of kittens."

Again, instincts took over as a furious Alastor quickly subdued the mouthy Sirius. In next to no time there were two Marauders neatly tied and tagged by the one-eyed Auror. And yes, Sirius Black was gagged.

"Don't you ever…._**ever**_… say anything about her," raged Alastor at a thankfully mute Sirius Black. He looked around and found that he was alone in the room. It seemed that the younger Order Members had decided that a strategic retreat was the best way to handle Alastor. "Don't you ever say **_anything _**about Minerva!"

Alastor ran his hand through his hair, trying to ignore his father's disapproving head shake.

"Oh bugger it," mumbled Alastor. "I've bollocked everything. This is the worse suicide ever."

* * *

In the other room, safely barricaded behind a dozen or so safety charms, they were having a council of war. Alice, as her norm, had taken control.

"Arthur," Alice said. "You _**know**_ Alastor. Please assure James and Frank that there is no way he would ever murder Remus or Sirius especially if they are unable to defend themselves."

"I agree," Arthur easily admitted. "However I believe that Alastor is having a bit of a crisis right now."

Alice and Arthur both ignored James' muttered comment about ' You think?' James' wife, however, due to wifely privilege, smacked him hard on his arm and tartly informed him to be helpful for once.

"We don't want to put him in a position where he feels threatened, because we don't know how he will react," continued Arthur. "Anyone know where Albus is?"

"No," was the group response.

Well, Fawkes might but the Phoenix had disappeared after contacting James as requested.

"Minerva?" was Arthur's next question.

"Quidditch World Cup," Frank informed Arthur.

"The security's been tightened because of you know who," Arthur murmured. "We'll never find her. Let me talk to him."

"Arthur, you're married and you have kids. Lots of kids," James reminded him. "A literal caravan of children."

"He's a friend," was Arthur's tart retort. "Friends help friends. I know he won't hurt me."

* * *

One glass of wine led to another. Then Edgar swept her into his arms and twirled her around the dance floor. The twirling was what was making her uneasy, not that Edgar seemed a little too 'into' their faux relationship.

"I'd like to return to the hotel," Minerva suggested. Yes, it would a way to escape from the noise, the wine… Edgar's possessive arm resting on her back.

The interested glint in Edgar's eye made Minerva curse herself for her stupidity. Edgar was _**interested**_…. And she was taking him back to her hotel room! She would have to handle this very, very carefully as Edgar was a dear friend. And _**nothing**_ more.

The problem of an over eager Edgar was forgotten when she opened the door to her suite. Alastor's Patronus was in her sitting room. The scruffy Irish Wolfhound was limping in obvious pain. The poor thing was just a far cry from the happy dog that had once licked her face and demanded a belly rub.

She kneeled on the floor and hesitantly began to stroke the dog's coat.

"Alastor," she whispered. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Please… please come back home… I want you to kill me," Alastor's Patronus informed her in Alastor's broken voice. "It has to be _**you**_, because I just can't do it. I tried… Goddess knows that I tried. Please hurry, Min. I need you to kill me. "


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - we left a crazed Alastor Moody rampaging in Minerva's sitting room.

* * *

In Remus Lupin's completely unprofessional opinion, Alastor Moody had gone around the bend a dozen or so times. In a gold-gilded, purple cushioned horse drawn carriage. One moment, he'd be sobbing duets with his dead Da then he'd fretfully doze. Those brief kips didn't last too long as he'd wake up, nattering, screaming and wailing about Minerva McGonagall.

Now, he was singing a lament.

_Lookin' down through a tide of no return,  
Is a field where the crops no longer grow.  
Parched is the land, strangled an' be damned.  
There for the Grace of Her Go I…_

"Alastor; it is I, Arthur," Arthur Weasley calmly announced as though facing a singing, crazed Auror was an everyday occurrence. Well… he _**was**_ married to Molly Weasley, so perhaps Alastor was the lesser of two evils. At least the way Gideon and Fabian had always talked about her sister, Remus could well believe it. "We need to chat."

"No," protested a hoarse Alastor. "Go away."

"Alastor, I'm coming in," Arthur informed him.

The door opened, while Alastor struggled to his one leg, his back braced in the room's corner. He had his wand out as though determined to fight his way out of the current situation. Instead of being frightened, a paternal, somber Arthur just shook his head at the wand.

"Alastor, you're scaring everyone," was Arthur's mild chastisement. "We're really quite worried about you. Please put your wand down as I'm no match for you."

"Go!" protested Alastor. The Auror was wild-eyed as he looked to his right. It was though he was having a conversation. "Why won't he _**leave**_? I don't desire to hurt Arthur."

Alastor had a brief one-sided conversation and then he wearily nodded his head. "Da says you're trying to help."

"Yes, I am," Arthur stated. Then in a much softer tone, as though he was taking to a scared, little boy. "Alastor, please, let them go. If you need a hostage, I'll be your captive. They're just boys, Alastor. Barely out of Hogwarts. They're so frightened that I'm surprised that they haven't made a mess in their pants."

The paternal Arthur seemed to be successful in soothing the jittery Alastor as he lowered his wand.

"Arthur," Remus spoke to try and explain the situation. Well, he attempted to do so, but Alastor Cast a Silencio spell on him.

"I didn't mean to do it," pleaded a desperate Alastor. "He was _**supposed**_ to kill me but he _**cocked**_ it up. It's _**his**_ fault that I'm not dead!"

Arthur nodded his head before he said, "Alastor, I know your grieving for what you lost. But just because you're missing a few body parts doesn't mean you need to kill yourself."

"I'm a… _**monster**_," Alastor explained to Arthur. The tone of Alastor's voice reminded Remus of his own angst, after his first, painful transformation into the Wolf. "It would be better for everyone if I was dead."

Alastor's breakdown was hitting a little too close to home for Remus. Remus' parents had constantly reassured their son that he wasn't a monster, that he was loved and wanted by both his parents. What would have it been like for him, if he had been older? If his parents hadn't been around? If he hadn't his friends to support him?

"Let the boys go," repeated Arthur. "I'll be your hostage."

"I don't want a bloody hostage. I want to be _**dead**_," roared Alastor. "Why won't anyone just bloody _**kill**_ me?"

Minerva McGonagall walked into the room, backed by a not very pleased Edgar Bones. Her appearance startled not only Alastor and Arthur but also the two bound Marauders. Alastor backed farther in the corner as though he was deeply frightened of Minerva…

He dropped his various wands and hopefully whispered, "Will you _**kill**_ me? Please? I _**deserve**_ it."

For a moment, Minerva McGonagall was speechless, whether from the mass, wanton destruction of the various McGonagall antiques or Alastor's plaintive request was uncertain. However, she quickly regained her voice.

"What the _**hell**_ is going on here, Alastor? You've destroyed my house, ruined my furniture and tied up two of my former students? Though I can understand why you gagged Sirius." Her tone as crisp, leaving no doubt that Alastor was destined to a lifetime's detention. "I left you for only a short while and everything's gone to bloody hell, Alastor!"

"They know! They all know!" Alastor's voice was hoarse. "What happened between us? They _**know!**_ Kill me, please."

A fragmenting Alastor was on a crumbling ledge, close to jumping. Therefore, Minerva handled the situation in her unique and forthright manner. She reached for Alastor's face, not letting him move away from her. Instead, she pulled his face down to her level and she spoke slowly and deliberately as though Alastor was nothing more than an overlarge firstie.

"Alastor Terence Moody, I don't really give a good bloody damn that the Entire Order knows that I took your virginity. I wouldn't be ashamed of what we did even if you decided to post it on the front page of the Daily Prophet. However, I must confess that I find your morning after regrets a bit extreme and rather ego bruising. Do you really want to die because you and I had _**sex**_? I know that I'm not your Diana, lad, but I thought we could still be _**friends**_. Well, if this is how you treat my hospitality, I will _**not**_ give you the Ballycastle shirt I bought for you."

Moody was staring at her as though she was the one that had gone barmy. As though she was the one holding everyone hostage after running amuck and destroying an entire room.

So for good measure, Minerva added a rather tart, "Now pull yourself together, Alastor, and fix the damage you're caused to my home! And be quick about it, man!"

A disturbed Alastor protested.

"It's not your fault. I won't let anyone say it's your fault. I can't fix the damage!" He frantically insisted. "I know how it is… how they try to blame the woman… I _**raped**_ you, Minerva. I _**forced**_ myself on you…I am _**ashamed**_. They all _**know**_! And they won't kill me! They just don't understand - that for your _**honor**_, for your _**reputation**_, I need to be _**dead**_! To bloody hell with your house, Minerva. I'm trying to save your _**reputation**_!"

He screamed his confession at full volume. As Moody had been blessed with a good set of lungs, it was doubtful that anyone in the Highlands had missed his carnal confession.

"And… you were… so kind… to me…" an exhausted Alastor stumbled over his words. "You refused to see the beast I am."

"So help me God, if you're telling the truth, I'll bloody kill you myself," Edgar Bones pledged. The quiet promise in Edgar's voice frightened Minerva.

"Thank you," whispered Alastor. For a wonder, he was smiling. "Please, Edgar. I'll thank you with my dying breath."

His sincere thanks left Edgar quite rattled and Edgar looked toward Minerva for answers.

The Auror collapsed then, physically and emotionally. Arthur Weasley was quick to bodily assist Alastor to the floor in a controlled descent. Minerva then sat on the floor next to the shattered Moody and she gently embraced him.

"You big, bloody fool," she breathed. "It was _**consensual**_. You were a sweet, gentle lover, Alastor. There was no force involved. It was consensual."

He rested his head on her shoulder and said not a word. However, he was holding onto her so very tightly. Very well, her priorities were that Alastor required her immediate assistance. He needed sleep, so she cast a Dreamless Slumber spell. That accomplished, some serious damage control was next on her list.

She saw their concern in their eyes. Their wondering eyes… the pursed lips… the enraged Edgar… They needed to be reassured about what had and most importantly hadn't happened.

In a calm voice perfected by far too many Hogwarts incidents to count, Minerva calmly informed the various Order members of the truth. Times like this, rock steady composure was required. "What happened between Alastor and me was completely consensual. Alastor was an absolute perfect gentleman, and I will not allow any of you… _**ANY OF YOU**_…. to think for one moment that what he just said is the reality of the situation. I think we can all agree that Alastor is ill and not acting rationally."

She nodded her head, and Arthur chimed in an easy agreement. His reputation for good common sense swayed Frank, which led to the others deciding not to kill Alastor immediately.

"Can someone please release Remus and Sirius," Minerva coolly instructed. "James, I need you to locate Albus with all due haste. Remus, where is Albus?"

An unSilencio'd Remus explained that Albus was in fact looking for Minerva. "Albus believes that some of the potions that Alastor was given by Healer Waldron might be causing his…" He paused, wondering what words to use rather than descriptive and quite accurate 'Mental Meltdown'.

"His misinterpretation of recent events," Minerva easily inserted. "Very well, I'd like you all, with the exception of Arthur, to please leave my house."

Edgar said not a word, instead he stormed out, too angry to speak, and Minerva mourned the loss of their friendship. She hadn't led him on, but Edgar had seemed to want more from her than she had realized. Fortunately, the Marauders and Frank knew too well from firsthand experience that there would be no convincing Judge and Jury Minerva otherwise, especially when she used that tone. They quickly left. However, both Lily and Alice, being the proper sort and not knowing the steel in Minerva's soul, still argued.

"I'd like to stay," Alice pleaded. "For Diana as I promised that I keep an eye on Alastor. I haven't done such a very good job. It's obvious that I've buggered it up."

Minerva shook her head. "Alice, your baby is due soon. Arthur can help me as we'll need to physically lift him."

The three women argued for a bit until Minerva won. Her victory was never in doubt as both Alice and Lily were too recently her students to easily shake off her directives.

"Alastor?" Alice whispered. "I _**know**_ you. I _**know**_ what type of man you are. Have faith, Alastor. Listen to Minerva."

"I fear that he's asleep," Minerva informed Alice.

A subdued Alice turned to Minerva. "I'm glad that you and Alastor…" Alice made a gesture that could only mean one thing. "Diana had confided in me about their relationship, especially about _**that**_ part. She wished to assure him that she understood the significance he placed on physical intimacy. Diana thought by waiting… but I _**know**_ Alastor was quite keen about sharing that experience with her. It's wonderful, Minerva, that he found you."

Alice sighed. "I just wish it hadn't turned out this way. I know Diana wanted his first time to be wonderful. She felt guilty as she didn't understand Alastor and his values at first. It's too easy to dismiss him as a hard-liner, but he's very profound. "

"I had hoped that he'd find some solace." That was Minerva's soft confession. "Instead, I fear that I've shattered him."

* * *

Fawkes the rapidly fading Phoenix found his Wizard. He collapsed on Albus' shoulder and peckishly pecked Albus to let him know that his Phoenix was quite peeved. Truly, Fawkes deserved Minerva as his Witch. She'd instinctively understand that it was exhausting enough being the Bright and Beautiful Fawkes; Messenger Fawkes was simply too strenuous position for the Phoenix's delicate constitution.

"Whatever is the matter?" Albus asked. Wisely, he didn't mention Fawkes' ill temper.

_**Wolfling is in trouble! Big Man is angry and Wolfling is tied up. Wolfling believes that Big Man will kill him. Have you found Minerva? Minerva will soothe her mate! I told Wolfling's friends so Big Man may have them tied up now! Minerva! Where is Minerva! Big Man needs Minerva!**_

"I haven't found her. She's not in her seats; she's not at the hotel. I have to talk to someone. I need you to return back to Minerva's home."

_**I'm exhausted! **_Fawkes wept shiny tears as he was on his last dregs. He wasn't shamming as his normally bright feathers were faded and droopy.

"I'm sorry, Fawkes. I need you to go to Minerva's house and clear everyone out or at least as many as you can. I have to bring our new friend there. You know he's supposed to be a secret," Albus explained. "You know who I trust with his identity."

_**Tired,**_ whimpered Fawkes. _**Only for Minerva's Big Man**_.

He didn't pop out so much as he merely faded.

* * *

"Severus," a Disillusioned Albus whispered in Severus' ear. Severus was sitting at a desk at Spinner's End, jotting down notes on his latest potion.

"It's safe," growled Severus. "What do you want?"

Albus appeared and shook his head. "Alastor has gone quite mad."

"It's the potions," was Severus' curt response. He showed Albus a small vial full of an emerald green liquid. "I have created something that may stabilize his sanity."

Severus was still explaining what he had done and commenting on his virtuosity at subtle art of potions when he and Albus arrived at Minerva's house. Albus touched the top of his head and Severus shivered as something cold and wet trickled down his back.

"Stay here," Albus requested. "Let me make sure everyone's gone. I've Disillusioned you so no one can see you."

Severus made a face at that comment and Albus shook his head.

"I saw that," Dumbledore mildly protested. "Do you feel better after sticking your tongue out at me? As the newest staff member at Hogwarts, you really can't do that. It looks unprofessional, Severus. But please, rest assured that Filius Flitwick will instruct you how to diplomatically state your belief that I'm utterly mad."

That quip earned a disgusted look from Severus.

"You wanted to be kept secret and I'm becoming more and more convinced of the wisdom of that. I fear what may happen if Voldemort…"

Severus shivered and Albus shook his head.

"I fear what may happen to you if Voldemort discovers your true loyalties. I grow more and more convinced that there is a cancer among the Order," Albus softly admitted that. "I have my suspicions that not all are as loyal as you."

"I'm loyal to you for _**one**_ reason and one reason only," Severus tersely reminded him. "I'm not one of your cult members."

"Yes, you are loyal to me for the most noble of reasons," assured Albus. "Regardless of your unwillingness to take credit, you did get Alastor out alive. I may need to reveal your identity to Minerva and possibly someone else. "

"_**WHAT**_?" Severus protested. "I'm supposed to be a _**secret**_ because you don't trust your bloody Order. Did you just miss that part of the conversation?"

"I trust Minerva completely," was Albus' response. "And Arthur isn't a member of the Order."

"Yes, he's too busy reproducing," sniped Snape.

* * *

A drooping Fawkes popped into the room. The Phoenix was truly off color, an almost alarmingly shade of coral.

_**Minerva?! Albus is returning with help! But everyone must leave! Only you and the Fire Haired Man can stay!**_

"Fire Haired Man?" Minerva repeated. "I can stay and so can the Fire Haired Man?"

"That's probably me," a helpful Arthur offered.

"Ah… I should have realized that Fawkes would describe auburn hair as fire colored. Fawkes, everyone's already gone," assured Minerva. "It's just Arthur, Alastor and me."

_**Yes!**_ Fawkes exclaimed. _**Albus is coming with help! **_

"Arthur, Fawkes needs spring water, please. Plus can you open the ice box? He'll let you know what he wishes to eat," requested Minerva. "Then please put him to bed. I have that nice, soft pillow that you can sleep on, Fawkes."

_**Fawkes loves Minerva. Minerva is very much not-stupid and Big Man is very lucky to have her. When Big Man is feeling better, Big Man and Minerva will nest again. **_The Phoenix assured her. _**Big Man enjoyed his mating flights with Minerva.**_

Then the lecherous Phoenix made a soft cooing noise.

"I hope you didn't just share that thought with Arthur," a prim Minerva requested. She was blushing and she hoped that Fawkes wasn't reporting her as the fire-colored Minerva to Albus.

"He did," a cheerful Arthur assured her. "Minerva, love is the fire that burns inside us all, the inner warmth that prevents our soul from freezing in the winters of despair. Bradley Grieve. You kept Alastor's soul from freezing, remember that. Now let me feed Fawkes as he's looking peaked."

_**Fire-Haired Father of Many Scarlet Haired Chicks is a not stupid! **_ Fawkes mentally chirped.

"His name is Arthur," Minerva retorted. "Congratulations, Arthur, you're on Fawkes' short list of acceptable not stupids. To get on the list and stay on it, you mainly have to feed Fawkes regularly."

Fawkes dismissively sniffed, but quietly, as he was famished and Arthur was heading towards the kitchen.

Minerva had just shifted the sleeping Alastor into a more comfortable position when Albus walked into the room. Wordlessly, he looked at the destroyed room and shook his head in disbelief at the sheer amount of wreckage. After a negligent gesture from Albus, the furniture began reassembling itself and various knickknacks began to knit themselves back together.

"I have someone I wish you to meet, but I want you to assure me that you will not reach for your wand," Albus explained. "He's here to assist with Alastor. He's the one that help get Alastor out. I trust him completely. I have Fawkes being demanding, so Arthur will in the kitchen for some time, so hopefully I will just have to introduce him to you. His identity must remain secret, Minerva."

"Albus, we haven't done very well by Alastor so far. How can I trust this friend of yours?" Minerva wisely requested.

"I trust him, I only can only hope that you can," was Albus' answer. "You know him, as he's a former student."

"Very well, introduce us," Minerva commanded.

"Severus…" Albus began.

"SEVERUS SNAPE?" Minerva spat. She remembered Severus Snape far too well from all his altercations with the Marauders. She didn't know how the war had originally started, just that it had continued through all his years at Hogwarts. "Are you as mad as box of chocolate frogs? He's a friend of Malfoy!"

"Yes, I'm glad that you remember him. He will be our new Potions Master," Albus continued. "After Horace finally finishes his retirement parties."

"Horace's social calendar is booked full for the coming year," snapped Minerva. "So we're looking at next school year at the earliest."

"Minerva, I assured Severus that you would not let the past influence your professional relationship. And he is the one that got Alastor out." Albus' voice was mild but Minerva heard his rebuke. "Let's get Alastor off the floor and onto the couch. Severus? Would you mind?"

Severus literally appeared in Minerva's living room at that moment. Minerva tried not to growl as that meant Severus had overheard everything.

"Professor McGonagall," he dryly acknowledged.

"Mr. Snape," she crisply replied.

"Minerva, Severus," chastised Albus. "You should really use your first names. It will help you develop a cordial working relationship."

Severus and Minerva's eyes met and they both realized that they shared the opinion that Albus was a badly dressed nutter. That insight into the other's personality unnerved them and they focused instead on moving Alastor from the floor to the couch. It proved difficult as Alastor was dead weight.

"No magic," Albus warned.

"We'll need Arthur to help," insisted Severus. "Unless you are willing to roll up a sleeve and help."

Alastor began stirring and he blinked. He looked at Minerva, then disengaged himself from her arms. He glanced at Albus before he stared at Severus. He pointed his index finger at Severus.

"I know _**you**_," was his hoarse comment. "You're the _**one**_. You're the bastard that kept me alive."

"Appreciative git, aren't you?" retorted Severus.

"Should have let me die," Alastor protested.

"Alastor, you've repeatedly made certain requests," Albus began.

"I want to die. I need to die," Alastor looked once at Minerva and flinched. He lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Very well, I agree it's time to end your anguish," was Dumbledore's glib response. "Severus, please give Minerva the vial."

Severus handed Minerva a small vial. She looked at Albus and he nodded his head. 'Trust me' he mouthed.

"It's proper, Alastor, that your suffering and distress be ended by Minerva," Albus assured the tormented soul. "The entire vial, Severus?"

"Yes," Severus agreed.

Minerva opened the vial and placed it against Alastor's lips. "Drink it _**all**_," she ordered.

He gratefully gulped down what he believed to be poison. Then believing his torment ended, Alastor happily smiled.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm unbelievably sorry, Tabby."

Whatever was in the vial made Alastor very loquacious and Albus was considerate enough to dismiss Severus so he didn't overhear their conversation. Somehow, she doubted that Severus Snape had developed the sensitivity that this chinwag demanded.

"I'm afraid of dying," the Auror informed Minerva. "I have to face Her with my ignominy. Da keeps nattering on and on how She'll understand. That I need to keep my faith, but my devotion is ashes. I've destroyed everything She values."

Alastor's breath was slowing and he closed his eyes.

"I'll stay with you," Minerva offered. She put her hands on his hands, and he shook his head.

"Don't. I don't deserve your kindness," he protested.

"Hush. Just drift away, Alastor." Minerva softly murmured.

"She's coming for me," whispered Alastor. "My Da… my Mamaí… my Daideó… Diana…They're there… they're waiting for me. I'm so scared…How do I face them?"

"They love you, Alastor," she assured him. "It'll be alright."

"I love you, Tabby. And there is no denying what I did you," was his response. "I have to face them on my own. Not hiding behind your skirts."

He let go of her hand and then he was asleep. Minerva dabbed at her eyes, and then decided to hell with decorum, she'd just wiped her tearing eyes on her sleeve. Fortunately, Albus rescued her by offering a clean handkerchief.

"He's deeply slumbering and he won't dream," Albus informed her. "Severus assures me that when he wakes up our Alastor will be perfectly lucid and rational. Now let's get him to bed, Minerva, while he's too tired to fight us. Arthur is done feeding Fawkes so we can tuck our fatigued little Phoenix into bed also. I've exhausted him and he's just a pale coral shade of his usual magnificent self."

With a quick flick of Albus' nimble fingers, Moody was snugly tucked away in his bed.

"Albus, will he remember what he believes?" That was Minerva's reluctant question.

"Unfortunately, yes. Hopefully, it will be negated by him remembering what _**really**_ happened between you two. Minerva, I need to apologize to you. What you just went through is because of Voldemort. He wishes me to rely on Severus, so he decided to strengthen Severus' position by using Alastor. The Healer gave Alastor potions to weaken his resolve. What Adham did was twist Alastor's happiest moment into something dark and depraved," Albus explained. "Alastor believes those memories, Minerva. They've grown, they've festered and they are his reality."

Minerva opened her mouth and then quickly closed it.

"Yes, what happened between you two was Alastor's happiest memory," Albus advised her. "Hopefully, after he recovers from this latest assault, you can ensure that he once again re-experiences that particular joy. Be patient with him, Minerva."

"It'll be rather hard for me to take his virginity again, Albus," Minerva snapped. Her anger wasn't with Albus, not at all. Her ire was directed toward the responsible party, herself. She had promised to watch over Alastor, and she had bloody gone off to the Quidditch World match when he needed her most. "That's a onetime event because I don't believe those Re-Virginizing Charms really work."

Albus blushed as he was the proverbial innocent in the matters of sex.

"Minerva, what I was suggesting was that perhaps you can help him work through his experience. Through _**talking**_? At the moment, the physical nature of boy-girl interaction might be a little too stressful for him."

"You and Arthur can find your way out," Minerva offered… well… commanded. "I'll be in his bedroom in case he needs anything. I'll keep an eye on Fawkes until he's feeling better."

"Minerva, this situation with Alastor isn't your fault," Albus insisted.

"It is," Minerva protested. "Now get out of my house. I have a patient to mind."

* * *

Alastor woke after a long, deep sleep and he had a bit of a headache. For a moment, he was content merely to stretch as his muscles were stiff from a long time abed. Then, it all came crashing back.

His complete mental meltdown.

He had destroyed Minerva's possessions.

Hogtied a werewolf.

_**Gagged**_ Sirius Black. And while most sane people would say that act rated a medal from the Ministry, Alastor doubted that it was forthcoming.

Had done everything except put a front page article in the Daily Prophet claiming that he had raped Minerva.

He had told the Bloody Order_**… Frank… James… Remus… Sirius…. **_About Minerva and him.

Plus there were a few conversations with his Dead Da and the singalongs… really…the singalongs… Never had much of a voice; that had been Terence and Colm's gift.

"I see that Sleeping Beauty is finally awake," Minerva announced. He flinched as he hadn't realized that she was in the room. "While you were sleeping, Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter made their arrivals. Breakfast will be served in thirty minutes. You need a shower and a shave as you're looking rather rough. Your crutches are on the side of the bed. After breakfast, I hope that you planned to fix some of the damage you've wrought."

"Bugger," breathed Alastor. "Bugger, bugger, _**bugger**_."

Then he flinched, as well Minerva was a school teacher, and she frowned on such language.

"Well, that's better than being my bonnie Banshee begging for death," was her cryptic response before she left the room.

* * *

Breakfast was a painful, mostly silent affair as Alastor refused to look at her. The answers to her questions were monosyllabic. His appearance was rather drawn and his hands noticeably shook while he drank his tea. When the breakfast was finally over, Alastor was still staring at his plate when he asked her what he needed to fix.

"You, us," Minerva informed Alastor. "We need that mended first. Best do it sooner rather than later, so it doesn't get a chance to scar."

"Your plates might be easier," he half-heartedly quipped. "Or the sofa? Surely you need a place to sit?"

"Look at me," she softly requested. "It _**didn't**_ happened, Alastor."

"I know, but I remember living it. You also can't deny that I was howling at the moon mad. I tied up Remus and Sirius!"

Alastor looked at Minerva, who was not even bothering to hide her smile.

"Albus told the lads that they needed to work on their defense. Next time, they might not be dealing with someone who doesn't want to hurt them. When you're feeling better, Alastor, you're to work with them on their sloppy skills."

He moaned and cursed Albus for being a cold-hearted bastard.

They were quiet for a bit and then Alastor spoke. "Thank you," was what he finally said.

Minerva decided to let Alastor take his time and finish his thought.

"Thank you for holding my hand when I thought I was dying," Alastor further explained. "I was fearful about meeting my dead. Da had a lot to say to me, as did Diana and the rest."

"Do you want to share?" Minerva asked.

"Can't tell you everything as I'm still processing a lot. However, Di told me that she was happy that you and I had…" Alastor blushed. "Da informed me that there was no shame in what truly happened between us because I loved you not only as the Goddess but as the remarkable woman you are. Also, he promised me that the other memories were false."

"That's rather… nice," Minerva assured Alastor.

"That's surprisingly poetic from him. Da was raised mainly by my Daideó, which explains that my lack of a silver-tongue. Colm was a bit rough around the edges. Hard to believe, I know."

And a compassionate Minerva refused to show her amusement. Instead, she took his hand and squeezed it.

That summer they talked a great deal, while Alastor fished or while they sunned themselves on Minerva's porch.

There were moments of quiet where they didn't talk. Sometimes, what Alastor experienced overwhelmed him and he needed to decompress. And there were the delightful times where Minerva slipped in Alastor's bed at night, content to let Alastor hold her and set the pace.

And most importantly, there were a great many moments of love where Alastor and Minerva love each other, properly.

* * *

Thanks to K for beta-ing. Thank you all for reading.

A/N all of Alastor/Terence songs were by Flogging Molly.


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